I Remember You
by cumberland river relic
Summary: After a violent crime, a guilt-ridden Patrick Jane takes charge of Teresa Lisbon's well-being. The result? Suspense and romance ensue. Chapter 19: "Fortuna"
1. In The Still Of The Night

Author's notes:

In _The Mentalist_ episode 4x10, "Fugue in Red," someone attacks Patrick Jane at a crime scene, Teresa Lisbon finds him, and once Jane revives she learns that he has suffered a memory loss and change in behavior. What if their roles in that episode had reversed? What if Lisbon became the victim of the attack?

Thank you to the great writer Sue Shay for her beta-reading, insight, and encouragement on this and other projects! I recommend all of Sue's stories including her current one, "Ready or Not." Sue's insight has enhanced this story in many ways that include adding punch and clarity.

The story title and chapter titles come from music, either a pop standard or a classical music work. In author's notes that follow each chapter, I describe the songs and related recordings. Some songs lend only their title to the chapter; others connect on a deeper level in tone and lyrics. I encourage readers to seek out these songs and listen for themselves.

* * *

Chapter 1: In The Still Of The Night

* * *

"Perfect, Jane," Teresa Lisbon mumbled to no one in particular. "Just perfect." They had arrived at the crime scene of a murdered firefighter mere minutes ago yet her consultant Patrick Jane had already wandered off to who knows where.

"Boss, our dead guy is a firefighter. Name's Paul Satterfield," said agent Kimball Cho as he walked up to Lisbon. "Where's Jane?"

"No idea, Cho. Why don't you coordinate with the techs, I'll track down Jane and see what he's been able to figure out."

"Will do, Boss."

Walking around the crime scene Lisbon found out that Jane had talked with the victim's friend then disappeared off into the woods. Maybe Jane had decided on taking a nature walk,it would be just like him to do that in the middle of a murder investigation. Since Cho had things under control, her presence wasn't immediately needed. Lisbon walked down a trail.

"For just once, can't you be the responsible one, Jane? I have to be that all the time, and I don't need your childish whims interrupting our work," Lisbon again mumbled to herself.

Responsibility. That word summed her life. Ever since her mother's death when Teresa was still a teenager, she had been the responsible one. First it was raising her brothers after the drunk driver killed her mother and cheap booze ruined her father. Following that it was ending her relationship with her fiance. After that it was starting her career in law enforcement. Next it was holding things together each day on her shift as a patrol officer at SFPD. Later it was finding justice for victims and families as a detective. Then it was joining and later leading her team at CBI. The least her consultant could do would be to focus on the matter at hand.

OK, that was harsh. If she had had some hard knocks along the way in life, at least she was building the career she'd strived for. The traumas of her life were still nothing to compare to Jane's - to coming home to find your spouse and child slain by a killer you had insulted in the media. How he held himself together as well as he did amazed her sometimes. She'd seen old video of Jane in his former days - the manipulator, the charlatan, the conman. That wasn't who he was now. Oh, the old behavior came through every now and then, and sometimes she had to admit it came in handy on a case. Still…

Jane had made it clear in his actions and words that he had loved his family and treated them well. Even at his worst, Jane held his family above whatever shenanigans he had involved himself in. Now the memory of his family drove him, and she and the CBI benefitted. Over the years Lisbon discovered that Jane did have values, even if they came in an odd mix. He could lie with a smooth voice, but he shared harsh truths about himself with her in an intimate way that no one else ever had. He could manipulate people to his own ends, but he lived like a pauper. He could flirt with skill, but he wore his wedding ring as testament to his dead wife and their vows.

Jane was Jane, and all his wandering around a crime scene usually bore fruit in an arrest. Lisbon had come to know his ways well, and she put up with him willingly. He was the only man she'd ever known who could make her want to wring his neck one moment then kiss him the next.

Kiss him? The thought jarred her out of her reflections. Best not to go there. That was a deep, dark corner of her mind where the wild things played. Still, the banter, the shared joys and laughs, the hours spent together on the road or in the office, the small kindnesses and the big displays (A pony! How did that get there?), the wavy hair, the scent of his aftershave, the eyes that looked into her soul, the smile that imprinted on her heart years ago - all had become a part of her life. A pleasant part, a thrilling part, a part she looked forward to each day.

Shaking her head to focus again on matters at hand, Lisbon found that the trail wound by a small lake. As she walked deeper into the forest, the random noises of the crime scene had given way to the still of the night. In the glow of the full moon the lakeside took on an other-worldly look. The sky was full of stars, looking like they could fall as tiny slivers of glass to the earth at any minute. Ripples gently lapped at the bank, and the aroma of the fallen leaves that covered the forest floor reached her nostrils. Shards of moonlight reflected up from the surface of the water, and wisps of mist gathered further out on the lake. Lisbon took a moment to stand still and drink in the beauty of the night. As she turned to leave, a splash at the edge of the lake caught the corner of her eye.

A hand reached out of the water to grab her leg. Her first reaction was shock, not action. The hand, covered in wet grass, jerked her forward. As her legs buckled, she hurtled into the water. In the corner of her eye she saw a man clad in dark clothing emerge from the water beside her.

Now her body slammed against the surface of the lake with a force that knocked the air out of her lungs. In the water she found no traction. She punched at the man without effect. Using his body to pin her under the water, her attacker closed his two hands around her neck in a grip that held her in place and squeezed precious air from her body.

Lisbon fought by instinct. Chocking, retching, gasping all merged into one horror. Every move she tried failed. She couldn't reach his face to get at his eyes. His body blocked access to her gun. The heaviness of the water kept her kicks at his torso from being anything more than light taps on his stomach. Lisbon was defeated. She knew it, but she wasn't going to give up. As the hands kept a steady pressure on her throat and the weight of his body kept her submerged, she thrashed.

With each second that passed, however; she thrashed less and less. Her strength dwindled. She seemed weighed down like a water-logged sack of refuse slowly sinking to the bottom of the ocean. As she surrendered to a darkness growing around her, Lisbon's thoughts turned to the people in her life, the ones she would miss: her family, her team, her Jane.

Then she stopped thrashing, the darkness took over completely, and Lisbon felt at peace.

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

"I Remember You" is one of the songs where the title, lyrics, and a particular recording all relate to the story. Written by Johnny Mercer and Victor Schertzinger in 1941, there are many fine recordings of it including Ella Fitzgerald's two studio versions. My favorite for its wistful tone is Diana Krall's version on her 2001 album _The Look of Love_.

While the lyrics of "In The Still Of The Night," written by Cole Porter in 1937, only partly match the action of Chapter 1, the title and tone set the stage for the pivotal event of the story. Of the many recordings of "In The Still Of The Night," a favorite is Jane Monheit's which is included on her album, _The Very Best of Jane Monheit_.


	2. Walking After Midnight

Author's notes:

Thank you to the great writer Sue Shay for her beta-reading, insight, and encouragement on this and other projects! Without Sue's help I would not have undertaken this story. Are you looking for a Patrick-and-Teresa story with warmth, humor, and romance all rolled into one engaging package? Then look no further than Sue's current story, "Ready or Not!"

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 2: Walking After Midnight

* * *

"Lisbon! Lisbon! Come out, come out wherever you are."

Patrick Jane cupped his hands around his mouth as he shouted the words. Lisbon would make him pay for yelling that out loud, but something about being outdoors in the woods at night made him think of the children's game of hide-and-go seek.

"The Boss went looking for you over that way," said Cho as he motioned to a trailhead. "She wanted to walk through the crime scene with you."

The extra bit of terseness in Cho's clipped words spoke volumes. It let Jane know that Lisbon wasn't pleased about his wandering off.

"Thanks, Cho. I'll track her down."

"I don't wanna be around when you two meet up again."

Jane waved Cho's warning off. He knew what would happen. In a few moments they would meet up again, Lisbon would chide him for going off on his own, and then he'd provide her with some brilliant insight that would move the case forward. Three or at most four days later the murderer would sit in the interrogation room and spill out a confession under the stern eyes of Kimball Cho. On the other side of the mirrored glass, Lisbon and Jane would watch the suspect unravel into a heap of self-pity, pleading for a mercy that would never come.

Once again, Jane would solve the crime and wrap it up in a neat bow for his boss. While he'd catch a nap on the couch in her office, Teresa Lisbon would add the case to her team's solved list in the database. That action would move their case-closed rate one notch higher. Then the monthly report that showed the case-closed rates for all the CBI teams across the state, the one that Lisbon said she scarcely looked at but in fact studied like an actuary, would show her team on top yet again. And it would all be because of the brilliant mind of Mr. Patrick Jane.

OK, that was too much for even him to believe. The truth was he did help Lisbon's team, and he made a big contribution to the case-closed rate. But everyone contributed, regardless of how big or how small a role they played.

"Lisssss-bon," Jane called out as he walked down a path in the woods. The moonlight peeking through the foliage at the top of the forest created moving shadows as a light breeze wafted through the leaves. The chill that blew across the exposed back of his neck made Jane pull his suit jacket tighter around his chest.

Jane's idle thoughts returned to the team. When he pondered the team's sterling record, the single person most responsible for their success was Teresa Lisbon herself. She kept things together, focused their efforts, and pushed the right buttons to get the job done. Most important for Jane though, she spent time with him.

"Lisssss-bon. Come out, come out, wherever you are," Jane yelled again, certain that she would scold him without mercy when he found her. He noted that he was deeper in the woods now, thick with the smell of falling leaves.

Lisbon had a first-rate mind on a par with his own. Oh how he loved it when they were working a case and bouncing theories off each other. Some of his favorite memories over the years were when he and Lisbon passed the time on a long trip by talking about a case, why one idea was better than another.

"Lisssss-bon. I give up. You can come out now," Jane said with a tinge of defeat in his tone. The din of noise back at the crime scene had diminished to faint whispers of human voices and the scattered sounds of car motors.

Jane amended what he had thought a moment before. It wasn't merely solving cases with Lisbon that made him happy, it was any time he spent with her. He enjoyed the small moments they shared each day: visiting a fruit stand on the way back home from a case, sharing a card trick, or simply being near each other in his car or her office. Jane admitted to himself that his world now revolved around Lisbon. She anchored him - gave his life structure, purpose…meaning. Even his quest for Red John was something that Lisbon had channeled to good effect.

"Lisssss…"

Jane had started to call out again as he approached a small lake, but an object about twenty feet out from shore caught his eye. A dark, indistinct shape, at first he thought it might be a log floating among the ripples of water. Moving closer, he could see it was covered with fabric of some sort - clothing. Jane felt fear welling up inside him that no self-control technique could quell. He quickened his pace to reach the edge of the lake.

In a gentle rhythm, the object bobbed about as water lapped around it. It began to rotate, and Jane glimpsed the light color of flesh come into view. As the object turned further, Jane confirmed his fear - it was a human body. Then the body fully turned over and it took every power within him to keep panic at bay when he saw the face.

"Lisbon! Lisbon!" Jane cried as his voice broke.

Lisbon gave no response, her body just floated atop the water.

"Help! Help! Cho! Anyone! Man down!"

Without a thought, Jane jumped into the water. For a moment, the chilly lake engulfed him. He hadn't realized how deep the water was at that point, and water surged into his mouth and nose as he sank. For a moment Jane fought to gain control of his movements. The coolness of the water served one good purpose - it shocked him out of the fear that had begun to run rampant. Raising his head above the surface again, he spit out water then began a slow swim.

"Lisbon! Lisbon!"

His eyes tried to discern some stirring from Lisbon but the only movement came from the up and down motion of the waves as they lifted and dropped her body.

"Teresa! Teresa!"

Still no response.

"Teresa, please! It's Jane. It's Patrick. Please say something!"

At last Jane had arrived at her body. With his arms encircling her, he lifted her to him. The limpness of her arms and legs was like that of a rag doll.

"Help! Help! I need help medical help back here right now!"

Jane half-walked, half-swam against the heavy resistance of the water. It felt like a great weight was holding him back. Slowly, too slowly, he fought his way toward shore.

"Help! Help! Need medical help right now." Jane's voice cracked with anguish as he yelled. He knew that not all of the wetness on his eyes came from the lake water.

Jane felt no movement from Lisbon's body whatsoever. He turned his head slightly to look at her as he carried her. In horror he saw that her face had a blue tinge.

"No! No!" Jane said as he began to sob in earnest.

Despite his fear, despite the terror that crowded out his other thoughts, Jane struggled on. The water pressed against each step but Jane pushed back with a single-minded focus.

"Help! Help! Lisbon needs medical help now!"

Jane and Lisbon were beside the shore, at a point where a gradual slope led up from the water. Gathering Lisbon tighter in his arms he lurched onto the mix of sand and grass. Jane summoned the last of his strength to shift Lisbon off his shoulder then gently lay her body on the ground.

He couldn't lose Teresa, he had already lost so much that was dear to him in life. Now her too? Seeing her lifeless body in front of him ripped apart his soul in a way he hadn't felt since the night he came home to find his wife and daughter slaughtered.

He heard shouts. Raising his head he saw Cho closely followed by two EMTs. Help had arrived. One of the EMTs, still at a distance, looked at the body Jane was holding in his arms and reached for his communicator.

"Water victim. Need full kit, stat!"

Pain that seared deep into his soul washed over Jane as he clutched Lisbon's limp hand.

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Author's notes:

Written by Alan Block and Donn Hecht, **"**Walkin' After Midnight**"** [the title of the song drops the "g" from walking] was a hit single for Patsy Cline in 1957. It is contained on numerous greatest hits albums of hers. The narrator of the song searches for someone in the middle of the night, which certainly fits Patrick Jane's actions in this chapter.

Readers looking for a 21st century update of the song in addition to Patsy Cline's original can check out the version recorded by the band "Girl In A Coma" on their 2010 album _Adventures In Coverland_.


	3. My Heart Stood Still

Author's notes:

Thank you to master writer Sue Shay for her beta-reading, insight, and encouragement on this and other projects! Without Sue's help I would not have undertaken this story. Writing suspense is new for me, and her expert guidance has helped me with difficult parts in this chapter as well as the whole story.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 3: My Heart Stood Still

* * *

"Sir? Sir! You need to let go of her."

Jane sat beside Lisbon gripping her hand while tears poured down his cheeks. He stared at her face, its peaceful expression a stark contrast to the chaos around them. The EMTs jostled against him as they attended to Lisbon. Yet Jane had only a vague awareness of them.

"Sir! We need to use the defibrillator. You have to let go of her. Now!"

Still, Jane couldn't release Lisbon's hand.

_I can't. I can't let go of Teresa._

"Jane, Jane! Let go of her. The EMTs need to work with Lisbon," said Cho as he yanked Jane away from Lisbon. With no support, her hand fell limp, palm up on the grass beneath her. At the same time, her head sagged to the turf, her neck twisted at an awkward angle.

The EMTs still took a few more moments to prepare the equipment. One EMT reached over to her body to rip open the blouse she was wearing. Once done with that, he placed the paddles on her chest. Jane cringed at the indignity of those actions but knew the EMT had no choice but to do it.

Without thinking, Jane began to reach for her again. Cho wrapped his arms around Jane's body to restrain him.

"Clear."

"Snap. Errrrrrrrrrw."

The defibrillator sent a shock through Lisbon. Jane winced at the violence when her body jerked upward then dropped back to the ground.

"Nothing," the lead EMT said as his team resumed a whirl of actions to ready another shock. Jane heard the dial click as they increased the juice.

Cho's grip loosened as Jane reached out again. His hand trembled as he touched Lisbon's cheek, running his fingers across her cold, damp skin. A thought that had lurked in the background of his mind charged to the front.

_It's my fault she's laying here…_

_Jane had caused this horror. If he had stayed with her, Lisbon would not have gone looking for him. Instead, he would have stood beside her ready to help. Later they would share breakfast at the diner down the road. There the gentle tinkle of Teresa's laugh, one that she saved only for her moments alone with him, would accent the brightening skies to the east. When at last they left the diner they'd drive ahead of the sunrise back to Sacramento, tired but alive._

"Sir! Please move away."

The voice carried greater urgency than before, and Cho grabbed Jane tight enough to push air out of his lungs.

"Clear."

"Snap. Errrrrrrrrrw."

Lisbon's body jumped higher this time, only to descend again as a twisted mass of arms and legs. Amid all the bedlam her face remained placid. Jane looked for something, anything from Lisbon - a twitch, a grimace, a breath - but saw no signs of life.

"Nothing."

The EMTs glanced among themselves, then they barked out numbers. The mix of readings and settings they shouted to each other meant nothing to Jane, but the tone of their voices had changed in a way so slight that only someone who had often seen - and heard - crews working an emergency could detect. _This is what we do when we're out of options_. He sensed this would be the EMTs' last attempt to revive her with any hope of success. Too much time had passed already. Jane heard the lead EMT make even more clicks on the defibrillator controls while the others repositioned Lisbon's body for one more shock. From the corner of his eye Jane saw the EMT hunched beside him steal a look at his watch. Jane realized that he was already writing their case report in his head.

_Teresa Lisbon was now the third…_

_Teresa Lisbon was now the third victim of Jane's thoughtlessness. First his arrogance had stirred Red John to murder Angela and Charlotte, and tonight his impulsiveness had left Lisbon floating face-down in a lake. _

_The three people dearest to him in life were gone because of him. Jane had barely survived losing his Angela and Charlotte years ago, and a deep ache had never left his heart since. Now he knew he would not survive the added pain of losing his Teresa._

Jane eased back on his own into Cho's arms. Cho's grasp itself differed from before, the strength that had held Jane back now gone. The two men slumped away from Lisbon and the EMTs as the final preparations ended.

"Clear."

"Snap. Errrrrrrrrrw."

Lisbon's body arced high in the air. As she dropped back to the ground her torso shifted to one side and her face tilted downward.

"Uhhhhh. Baaaa. Uhhh-uhhh."

Unbidden by the EMTs, water spilled out of Lisbon's mouth. Her head jerked upward while phlegm dribbled from her lips. As Jane marveled at the scene, Lisbon's eyes fluttered open to meet his own. Jane's heart leapt.

Teresa was alive!

"Let's go!"

The EMTs swung into action again to stabilize her. Jane sat hunched over, staring at Lisbon in wonder. He reached over to hold her hand in his. Her fingers gave the weakest of movements, but that was enough for Jane to break out in a smile. Around him the EMTs bumped into his shoulders, strapping a mask across Lisbon's face and bringing up a gurney. It didn't disturb him in the least. His best friend was back.

"Sir, we're ready to move her," the lead EMT said as he patted Jane's arm. Looking up at the man, Jane saw the hint of a smile. Cho, who had already stood up, extended his hand to Jane. He gladly accepted.

"On three. One. Two. Three." On the staccato cadence of the lead EMT, the team lifted Lisbon onto the gurney. With practiced speed they strapped her down for the bumpy trip to the parking lot.

Jane surveyed the renewed hubbub around him. The EMTs had pointed the gurney toward the hiking trail, local police were already scouring the area for clues, and Cho was on his phone.

"…Yeah, she's about ready for transport. You go to the hospital. All of us will meet up as soon as we can," Cho said into the phone.

"Van Pelt?" asked Jane.

"Yeah. She'll go to the hospital. Rigsby's coming out here. Someone should ride with Lisbon."

Jane acknowledged Cho's words with a nod and a smile.

"I'm with her."

"Good. We'll meet up at the hospital after Rigsby and I secure the operations here."

With that, Jane turned and sprinted after the gurney. The EMTs had already begun their slow trek along the trail. The wheels on the gurney clattered along as pebbles continually knocked them off their forward motion. The pace was slow but steady.

When Jane reached them, he looked at Lisbon. The oxygen mask that she wore obscured her face except for her eyes. But her eyes alone were enough to tell Jane that the whole scene had her bewildered. By instinct he clasped her hand in his again. Her eyes looked first to their hands then to his eyes, and Jane persuaded himself that they had brightened in response.

When at last the group reached the ambulance, one of the EMTs loading the gurney on board looked at Jane with disapproval when Jane grasped the handle bar to hoist himself into the rear cabin. In a flash, Jane thumped the CBI badge on his lapel and prayed that the man wouldn't inspect it too closely, in particular the word "Consultant." Jane caught a break; the man waved him aboard without a word.

"Sir. Did you know you were soaked?"

Only when he heard those words from the EMT did Jane consider his own condition. Looking at his water-logged clothes, he realized that his body had broken into an uncontrolled shiver.

"I didn't even think about it until you brought it up," Jane replied.

The EMT opened an overhead trunk to pull out two blankets. As he handed one to Jane he draped the other around Lisbon's body.

"Thanks," Jane said as he clutched his blanket close around himself.

Once he felt the engine on the ambulance rumble to life, Jane relaxed a little. At last, they were underway. The crackle of tires on gravel had never sounded sweeter to his ears.

Jane knew enough of medical sensors to tell that Lisbon, even if hurt, was at least stable. He watched the gentle, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as she took in normal breaths of oxygen. Now when he held her hand he could feel the strength return to her grasp.

Suddenly the ambulance hit a pothole. By the way the whole rear cabin shuddered, Jane judged that it must have been the size of the Grand Canyon. A box of bandages flew across the space and landed with a thud beside the gurney. Dozens of mauve-colored strips littered the floor, but clean-up would wait until later. Seeing the mess all around them, the EMT and Jane looked at each other, smiled, and shook their heads.

"Um-um-um."

Lisbon's grunting prompted both men to redirect their gaze back to her. The oxygen mask had gone askew, the strap around one ear having snapped. With the adept nonchalance of a professional who had done it scores of times before, the EMT reached behind him without looking, opened a drawer, and pulled out a fresh mask. With his other hand, he pulled the defective one from around Lisbon's head.

Jane looked at Lisbon's full face for the first time since they had been lakeside. The blue tinge that had so frightened him before had vanished, replaced by a rosiness that colored her cheeks. Her eyes, the beautiful emerald orbs that he looked forward to seeing each day, met his.

Smiling up at him, Teresa Lisbon squeezed his hand. And winked.

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Be sure to check out Sue Shay's current project, "Ready or Not," a great Jane-and-Lisbon romance!

Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart wrote "My Heart Stood Still" in 1927. While the lyrics of the song have little to do with the action of the chapter, the title fits. Ella Fitzgerald's version of the song from her landmark album _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Rodgers & Hart Songbook_ is a favorite recording. I leave it to the reader to decide whether the chapter title applies to Lisbon or Jane or both.

A reader asked if I were a musician. Sadly I'm not, but I have always enjoyed listening to a wide range of music. That range includes the genres used for chapter titles in this story - pop standards, country, and classical music.


	4. Where Or When

Author's notes:

Thank you to the great writer Sue Shay for her beta-reading, insight, and encouragement on this and other projects! Want to read a Jane-and-Lisbon story in what I call the hybrid category of "light romance" - at the border of friendship and romance? Then check out Sue Shay's story, "Addicted to Law." And of course check out her current "Ready or Not!"

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 4: Where Or When

* * *

Jane held Lisbon's hand the rest of the way to the hospital. He had greeted her wink with joy. To him it signaled the welcome return of her feistiness. How badly hurt could she be if she had summoned up a response like that? Yet doubt clouded Jane's mind as he wondered about what had happened in those minutes when her breathing had stopped.

Jane was shaken out of his thoughts, but not by a pothole. Restless, Lisbon tugged against her restraints. If he had thought that the new mask would settle her down, he was mistaken.

"Hey! It's OK. We're in the ambulance going to the hospital. Just relax," said Jane as he shifted so his face was right over Lisbon. Bringing his free hand to her face, he brushed aside the matted hair that had plastered against her forehead. In response Jane heard a deep sigh, like the gentle purr of a cat. The tautness on her restraints eased, and the tension etched across her brow disappeared.

As soon as they arrived at the hospital though, a whirlwind of action engulfed them. Someone must have alerted the hospital that an injured law enforcement officer was coming in; a half-dozen doctors and nurses met the ambulance outside the emergency room. When the rear door opened with a whoosh, a blast of cold air flooded the cabin that made Jane shiver. A host of hands grasped the gurney to pull it out. At the first movement of the gurney away from Jane, he saw Lisbon's eyes cloud over with what? Uncertainty? Fear? Her head jerked back and forth, her body tensed again, and her hand clutched Jane's with a strength that took him by surprise. Her eyes met his and he smiled down at her.

"It's OK. We're here at the hospital now. The doctors need to check out how you're doing," said Jane.

In response, Lisbon thrashed more against the restraints that held her down. The pressure of her grip increased if that were possible, and her eyes pleaded with him. As he gazed at her, Jane searched for something to say that would calm her down.

"It's okay, it's okay. You've had a nasty dip in a lake. Sometime for a swim, huh? At night, in late fall. The doctors just need to see if you're still water-logged." Jane plastered a nervous smile across his face.

Lisbon continued to squirm. Jane waved to the team of people tugging on the gurney to hold up for a moment. Bringing his face alongside hers, he spoke in a tone that belied the unease that lurked behind his words.

"Let these people look you over. Please don't worry. I'll be here waiting for you, I promise, Teresa."

Without thinking, Jane squeezed three times on Lisbon's index finger and smiled. Her thrashing stopped, and he stroked her hair. Her eyes relaxed.

"That's my girl. I'll be waiting for you," he said as he kissed her forehead.

With a nod from Jane, the emergency room team extracted the gurney and its wheels clattered across the pavement to the building. A lone remaining nurse motioned for Jane to come with him. Clutching his blanket around himself, Jane hopped out of the ambulance to follow.

Inside, Jane was surprised to find the nurse direct him into a side examining room.

"We need to check you too, sir," the nurse said. "You seemed to have taken a dip in the water yourself. Here's a hospital gown." With a sigh, Jane did as he was told.

_Shiver before, shiver now _Jane thought as he sat in the thin gown. Looking just beyond his heap of soggy clothing on the examining room table, he spied a hot-air hand dryer by the sink.

_Might as well do something useful while I wait…_

Methodically, Jane took each piece of his clothing and held it under the dryer. Pants, shirt, jacket, socks. How long did it take to go through them all? He had lost track of time. Eventually a doctor came by to tell him what he already knew - he'd taken a full-body dip in cold water but wouldn't have any ill effects.

_Thanks a lot._

"Where can I go to see Teresa Lisbon, the agent I came in with?"

"They treated her here in the ER, then sent her for a neurological eval. You can talk to the doctor who worked with her down here. There's also a police forensics team here as well collecting evidence."

As Jane tucked his shirt into his pants, a stray thought froze him in place.

_I squeezed Lisbon's finger three times. The only other person I ever did that with was Angela._

Squeezing Angela's finger had been a private message between Jane and his wife. With it he conveyed his support for, his commitment to Angela. Each of the three squeezes represented its own word. When the circumstances allowed, Jane backed up each squeeze with a whisper of the word in her ear.

Jane shook out of those thoughts and finished redressing.

* * *

The most descriptive term in the English language was "waiting room." How long had he been sitting alone inside the four beige walls of this prison with a soda machine? After talking with Lisbon's first doctor, he had been led - _led!_ - there by a nurse to await word from the neurologist. His lack of control chaffed at him. All he wanted now was to see Lisbon, to find out how she was. Instead, he sat shunted off in a far corner of the hospital, left alone with his mixed feelings of concern and guilt.

As Jane's body fidgeted back and forth across the vinyl upholstery of the fifth seat on the third row of chairs it seemed as if his skill at tamping down his emotions had taken a permanent vacation. He felt spasms of tension course through his stomach, and he realized that his hand continuously ran through his hair. Despite his recognition of these physical tics, he couldn't control them.

"Jane!"

It was a sign of the state that he had fallen into that the sound of Grace Van Pelt's voice startled him. Turning his head and rising from his chair at the same time, Jane saw her dash down the hallway towards him.

"Van Pelt. Good to see you," he replied as she came into the room.

As befitted her nature, she grabbed Jane into a tight hug.

"What's the word on Lisbon?" she asked as she moved back from their embrace.

"She's getting a neurological evaluation right now."

"What about physically?"

"The emergency room doctor that treated her told me that apart from some bruising around her neck, he saw no other issues."

"There wasn't a…?"

Jane knew what Van Pelt was getting at and saved her from having to speak the words he knew she dreaded saying aloud.

"No, there was no sexual assault." This was greeted by a sigh of relief from Van Pelt. "Most likely Lisbon came across the murderer of the firefighter and he got the jump on her."

"Cho and Rigsby will be here as soon as they wrap up at the crime scene. So what do we do now?"

Jane waved his hand around the room.

"Wait. And wait and wait."

The two of them sat down, and despite Van Pelt's presence his nervousness returned. He hoped she didn't notice.

"You found her."

"What?" Jane asked.

"You found Lisbon. Cho told me. That had to be rough for you."

Now Jane found that his lack of control extended to his tongue as well.

"I'll never be able to describe - or forget - the feeling when I saw Lisbon floating in that lake. Part of me died again tonight."

That last part of what he said Jane wished he could take back as soon as the words left his mouth. "Again" - just like with Angela and Charlotte. Van Pelt patted him on the shoulder.

"It's hard. I know the two of you are close."

"Thanks, Grace."

Jane stared at the far wall, and the pastel tone embedded in his mind. All his thoughts focused on Lisbon, trying by force of will to make her whole again. The seconds slipped into minutes and the minutes into hours.

* * *

"Mr. Jane? Mr. Jane?"

Lost in thought about Lisbon, it took a moment to focus on the voice calling him. Standing over him and Van Pelt was a middle-aged woman in scrubs, one with an air of authority. Jane shifted in his chair to fully look at her.

"Yes, that's me."

"I'm Dr. Betty Suchman, Ms. Lisbon's neurologist. Can we talk?"

Van Pelt nodded for Jane to go ahead while she remained behind.

Jane followed the doctor down a hallway to a small conference room. Once inside, Dr. Suchman dropped a folder on the table and motioned for Jane to take a seat.

"When will I be able to see Agent Lisbon?" Patrick asked.

"When we finish talking, but I wanted to speak with you first, Mr. Jane. It's about her condition."

The tone of the word "condition" set off alarm bells in Jane's mind.

"But she was alert on the ride into the hospital. Quite animated at a couple of points."

"Indeed she is, Mr. Jane. That's not the issue."

"Then what is, Dr. Suchman?"

"Ms. Lisbon's physical injuries from her attack will heal quickly. It's her mental condition that merits the most concern right now."

"Mental condition?"

"While she's alert and responsive to questions, she is suffering from memory issues. Am I to understand that you are a friend of hers, Mr. Jane?"

"I am."

"What I'd like for you to do is meet with Ms. Lisbon, and then you and I will talk after that."

"Of course, Dr. Suchman. I've been waiting to see her since we came in."

"Good. Just keep in mind that your friend may act differently."

* * *

Taking a deep breath to control his swirl of emotions, Jane opened the door and walked into Lisbon's hospital room. The smell of antiseptic, the beeping of monitors, the raised temperature all confronted his senses at once, but he dismissed the surroundings when he saw her small figure curled up in a ball sitting on the bed. With one hand Lisbon clutched her legs tight to her chest, and with the other she fingered her crucifix. Her brow furrowed as she rocked back and forth.

A sense of shared pain roiled through Jane as he watched her, but then Lisbon looked up. Seeing him, she broke into a beautiful smile that gladdened his heart. Her body unballed in an instant. Seized by an urge to be as close to her as possible, Jane moved past the guest chair to sit down on the side of the bed.

The two sat in silence as a wave of relief washed over Jane. His Teresa would be OK! She was breathing, conscious, alert. She had survived. If he had believed in a deity he would have given thanks.

"Hey, there. You gave us quite a scare."

Lisbon's finger beckoned him to move closer. Jane scooted over until his left hip tapped against her thigh, and Lisbon fully sat up. If possible, her smile brightened even more. Again seized by an urge that welled up from somewhere deep inside, Jane grasped her hands in his.

"Do you remember anything about tonight?" he asked.

Lisbon seemed preoccupied with something.

"Teresa, do you remember anything from earlier this evening?"

In a sudden motion, Lisbon lifted up Jane's left hand to inspect it. She stared at it as she rubbed the wedding band on his finger. Raising her eyes up to meet his, Lisbon grinned.

"Are you my husband?"

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading, following, and reviewing the story.

"Where Or When" is a song written by Richard Rogers and Lorenz Hart in 1937. Numerous singers and musicians have recorded the song, and my favorite is Ella Fitzgerald's version for her album _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Rodgers & Hart Songbook_. The lyrics of the song describe a situation of fleeting, vague memory shared between two people.


	5. Night And Day

Author's notes:

Thank you to the great writer Sue Shay for her beta-reading, insight, and encouragement on this and other projects! Want to read a Lisbon-and-Jane romance accented with warm humor in each chapter? Then check out Sue's current project, "Ready or Not."

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter. Readers who have seen 4x10, "Fugue in Red," will recognize the role-reversal of the first hospital scene from that episode.

* * *

Chapter 5: Night And Day

* * *

"Are you my husband?"

Jane leaped up from the bed as if someone had electrified it. Lisbon stared at him with a perplexed look.

"What?" he at last sputtered.

"I asked if you were my husband," Lisbon restated.

For a moment all he could do was hum and haw.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, the doctors tell me I've been through a lot recently," Lisbon said with a smile. "But I mean no offense. You seem like a fine gentleman, a quite good-looking one I might add, and when you came in you sat directly on the bed next to me instead of in the chair over there. So I assumed with the ring on your finger that we were married."

"No, we…are…not…married."

Jane saw Lisbon's eyes cloud over as conflict raged within her. Her smile faded to a frown.

"But we're in a relationship. And you're married to someone else," she said. Disapproval tinged her voice.

"I'm…not…currently…married."

"But your ring."

"I've been widowed almost ten years. I wear the ring in memory of my wife."

The frown flipped over to a smile again.

"So we're in a relationship."

"Not the kind you appear to be thinking right now."

"But we're on our way to one. I haven't missed out on anything," Lisbon said. Her voice rose in expectation as her head nodded in encouragement.

"Ahhhhhm" was all Jane could produce from his mouth. _Of all people, why can't I string any words together!_

"Tell me your name," she said. Lisbon tugged on Jane's suit jacket.

"Are you playing a trick on me?" Jane asked. If Lisbon wanted revenge on him, she certainly was doing a good job of making him squirm.

"I wish I was." She shook her head in sorrow.

Jane looked at her as if one of the two of them had just dropped into an alien world. Which one of them he was unsure of.

"I should have talked more with your doctor before I came in here," he said as he looked around to the door.

"No, please stay and talk to me. I really enjoy your company. Tell me your name."

Lisbon patted the side of the bed where Jane had been sitting, and her warm smile drew him back like a magnet. As soon as he sat on the bed again, she leaned towards him. Despite, or maybe because of, the strangeness of the situation, Jane felt giddy and he reciprocated her smile.

"I'm Patrick Jane. I work for you as a consultant at the California Bureau of Investigation."

"So you and I catch bad guys? That sounds like fun!"

"Fun? It's a lot of hard work. Often it's dangerous," he replied.

"But I suspect us working together makes it worthwhile. I'll bet we're a regular dynamic duo!"

Jane had no idea whatsoever how to answer that. Lisbon was bringing up the kind of feelings that Jane had worked very hard over the years to suppress. His primary business was hunting down Red John, and his secondary business was helping Teresa Lisbon bring other law breakers to justice. The exact nature of his feelings for her was a topic that he had shunted off to the outermost corners of his mind, partly out of concern for Lisbon herself, partly out of respect for Angela, and partly out of his own concern for what those feelings might lead to.

"I'm sorry. I really should have talked more with your doctor before coming in to see you. She also said that I needed to follow up with her after I spoke with you."

As Jane started to rise, Lisbon grasped his arm to stop him.

"Wait. I did see something tonight."

Jane sat back down but Lisbon left her hand wrapped around his elbow.

"You did?"

"Yes. The first thing I remember when I was in the forest."

"Oh?"

"What I saw was you, your eyes to be exact."

"Oh," Jane said. Did he feel like his face was blushing? _Please let my self-control return!_

"And then when I was on that cart…"

"You mean the gurney?"

"Yes. When those people were moving me through the forest I felt so alone, but you came to me again."

"I was worried about you."

Lisbon moved her hand to rub the top of his shoulder.

"After that you rode with me to the hospital."

"You remember that?"

"I do. You held my hand."

"You know me, Lisbon. Any excuse to hold a pretty girl's hand."

_Oh no! Where had __**that**__ come from? And why couldn't his brain keep control of what came out of his mouth?_

Lisbon grinned.

"Now I'm feeling a lot better!"

"Good," was all Jane could mumble with any reasonable sense of restraint.

"But you know what, Mr. Jane?"

"Mr. Jane" sounded so odd, so awkward to his ears that he didn't dwell on his own insecurities anymore. In its own weird way it got him to relax.

"What?"

"When we got here to the hospital, when they were going to take me away from you, I panicked."

"You did seem upset."

"But I calmed down when you promised you would wait for me. Then you squeezed my finger three times. Something about that reassured me. I knew I didn't need to worry anymore."

"I wasn't going to be anywhere else other than here for you, Lisbon."

"I may not remember you from before, but I can tell you are a good friend. It makes me feel better about whoever I really am that someone like you is in my life. You're a good man, Patrick Jane."

Jane laughed.

"Don't go drawing that conclusion. If you could remember back twelve hours ago, or a day ago, or a month ago, you'd have a different opinion."

"People who are close to each other always have their ups and downs. But somehow I just _know_ about you, Mr. Jane."

* * *

She was starting from scratch. She knew no past, and her present flashed by in a frightening blur of people, machines, and rooms. The void in her mind terrified her; there was nothing she could latch onto save for one person, the first thing she remembered, the moonlight man.

Since entering the hospital, she had learned a few things. One of the doctors called her Teresa Lisbon. That was a nice name, but that was all she had to hang on to about herself. She made sure to remember that, it would be her starting point.

Once when she was left alone in an examining room, she glanced around only to be startled by someone staring at her. It took a moment to realize that she was looking at herself in a mirror. Intrigued, she walked over to it to get a closer look.

What she saw seemed…nice. She appeared to be in good physical health, something confirmed by a doctor in the emergency room. As for her age, she was neither a teenager nor a senior citizen. While her height appeared shorter than average, she was still in the typical range. All in all she saw a vital woman, someone who lived an active life.

After all the action that had gone on around her for the last few hours, now she sat alone in a hospital room on a bed. The loneliness scared her. It kept her from doing anything other than rocking back and forth, holding her crucifix, yearning for something to happen. Waiting for someone. Waiting for the moonlight man to come back to her. She had been waiting hours for him but didn't want to give up hope.

Then she looked up.

The moonlight man was in the room with her now. Him. The man whose eyes she had first seen in the forest. The kind man. The man who called her Teresa and held her hand and squeezed her finger three times.

Now she knew his name. Patrick Jane. She made sure to focus on the name so she would remember it too. His smile, his eyes, his care for her all imprinted on her heart.

Since her first memory of him in the moonlight, really her first memory at all, she had seen many other people. There were doctors, nurses, technicians, police, but the only person who really mattered was Patrick Jane. He had promised he would come back to her and he did!

Something cloudy in her mind, resting just beyond what her thoughts could grasp, drew her to him. When she called him a good man he said she would think differently if her memory went back further. He said that with such warmth that he made her believe two things. One was that he must have indeed done things that upset her. The other was that no matter what he had done to upset her, they shared a special bond. What was that bond? She could tell by the way he reacted to her that something between them lurked beneath the surface, something present yet unsaid. She sensed what it was, and it made her tingle with anticipation.

That was the only good thing she could cling to right now.

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading, following, and reviewing the story!

Over the years many artists have performed the classic "Night and Day" since Cole Porter wrote it in 1932. Those artists have included Ella Fitzgerald, Fred Astaire, and Frank Sinatra. My favorite version however comes from the British duo "Everything But the Girl" who recorded the song in 1983. In the song, the narrator expresses the desire to be with his or her beloved "day and night."


	6. The Very Thought Of You

Author's notes:

Thank you to the great writer Sue Shay for her beta-reading, insight, and encouragement on this and other projects! In the mood for a short, sharp suspenser? I recommend Sue's 1,800-word story, "Danger on Donner Pass." It includes a riveting car crash _that puts you right there_.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 6: The Very Thought Of You

* * *

Patrick Jane's shoulders slumped at the news from Dr. Suchman.

"A fugue state may last a few minutes, or hours, or days, or months, or in some cases years, Mr. Jane. I can't give you a set time. Sometimes the victim never fully recovers their old memories."

The day had worn him out. In the space of a few hours he had gone from seeing his dearest friend lifeless on the cold, damp ground to witnessing the miracle of her return to meeting the blank slate of her former self. Now it was like the fugue had hidden his friend and left behind an empty shell in her place.

_No, that wasn't entirely true. Something was there, something that also stripped away the comfortable distance that he and Lisbon had maintained all these years._

The new Lisbon could see through him just as the old Lisbon could. That was bad enough; the only other person he had ever let get close enough to do that was Angela. The new Lisbon took things further. Freed of whatever history moored her to a certain restraint, now she challenged him. The wall that Patrick Jane had erected to keep the world at bay crumbled with every word, every touch, every smile from Teresa Lisbon. And when she challenged him, he lost the self-control he had honed his entire life.

_And yet. And yet…_

Deep down part of him didn't mind that. For a fleeting moment in the hospital room, sitting beside her with his body brushing against hers while they looked at each other, he felt…giddy. Like a teenager with…

_This had to stop! He would redouble his efforts at control, somehow, some way._

* * *

When Teresa opened her eyes from her nap, a surprise greeted her. Three people sat in chairs around her bed. On her left was a giant of a man eating a candy bar. On her right was another man with a blank expression on his face and a book in his hand. In between was a young woman with bright red hair staring at her with a hopeful look.

"Guys, the Boss is awake!" the young woman shouted.

The two men focused on Teresa as well. The big man smiled; the other man looked at her too but never changed his expression. The redhead rose from her chair to move beside the bed. She patted Teresa on the wrist and smiled.

"You had us all worried, Boss," said the large man.

"Yeah," said the other man. _His expression had never changed from when Teresa woke up._ She decided this other man personified the word "stoic."

"Do you recognize any of us?" the redhead asked.

If anyone had the power to "will" the return of her memory, Teresa decided that this young woman would be the one to do it. Sadly, not even her enthusiasm could work that miracle.

"I'm sorry. I mean no offense by my ignorance."

The redhead's face drooped, but her voice still carried a lilt of hope in her next words.

"We'll work with you, Boss. I know you'll remember sooner or later."

For the next hour Teresa got a crash course on Grace Van Pelt, the hopeful young redhead, Wayne Rigsby, the hungry giant, and Kimball Cho, the stoic reader. They seemed like a latter day Three Musketeers. To think that she led these three in their police work! To Teresa that seemed like a daunting challenge, but they carried their loyalty to her like a badge. When they addressed her they never used "Teresa," rarely used "Lisbon," and mostly used "Boss."

"…_and then you circled back around to tackle the guy." _

"_We weren't getting anywhere until you decided that we should look over the wife's bank records again." _

"_You and Jane came up with a plan to get the nephew to reveal the location of the body."_

The three of them also filled Teresa in on the work they did. While she was sure each day brought its share of brain-numbing reports to file and butt-numbing procedures to endure, the stories they told her thrilled her. The cases they handled sparked her imagination, and the trio impressed her as worthy colleagues.

"_You got Jane to…" _

"…_until you proved Jane's theory that…" _

"…_after you and Jane drove to Fresno to interview the widow, the two of you figured out that…"_

Teresa could sense the bond she shared with the team. It warmed her spirit to be connected to people like that; however, their words all conveyed another unstated message: the person she was closest to was Patrick Jane.

"Ah, there you are!"

Teresa looked up from her thoughts to see a young man with a way-too-serious expression on his face walk into the room. At the same time he entered the Three Musketeers all glanced at the man then looked away as if they had planned to synchronize their moves.

_This guy has to be a boss of some sort, and they don't much care for him._

"Hello."

"Yeah, hi, Agent Lisbon. I understand you've suffered a memory loss. I'd shake your hand except we've already met. Already worked together. I'm Agent-in-charge Luther Wainwright. I'm your boss."

"Oh. OK."

Wainwright bent over to look in her eyes.

"No, no light of recognition on your part. You don't know me at all, do you?" Wainwright asked as he raised himself back up to normal height. Someone could have thought him a doctor examining a patient except for his snap judgment.

"Please don't be offended, sir. There's a lot I've forgotten."

"Yeah. Well I hope it clears up. We're doing everything we can to catch the person who did this to you. _Aren't we, agents?_"

Wainwright raised his voice as he scanned the faces of the Three Musketeers. It made Teresa wince.

_That was uncalled for! These three people are professionals, and they took the time to visit me and most of all cheer me up._

"Agent Wainwright, these people were trying to help me with my memory. I didn't know them either, but they've filled me in on a lot about myself. I appreciate what they've done."

"Good. I'm glad the _three_ of them could help. Now I need _two_ of them to help me. They can decide amongst themselves who stays and who comes with me," Wainwright said as he looked around at the Three Musketeers again. "I'll see _two_ of you in the hallway in a moment."

With that Agent Wainwright pivoted and marched out of the room. Through the glass window between her room and the hallway, she saw him assume a position facing the doorway, awaiting the outcome of the Three Musketeers' decision.

Teresa watched the trio glance around among themselves. They nodded to each other, and Cho spoke for them all.

"Rigsby and I will go. Van Pelt will stay here with you, Lisbon," he said as he and Rigsby rose to leave.

"It was good to, uh, re-meet you, Agent Cho. I look forward to seeing the two of you again soon."

"Same here, Boss," replied Rigsby for the two of them.

Through the window Teresa saw Wainwright latch onto the two men as soon as they entered the hallway. His animated gestures at Cho and Rigsby reminded her of a college professor who, in front of a class, got into a debate with himself about the pros and cons of some idea. It was as if the other two men weren't there; Wainwright had ventured off into his own world. The three men turned down the hallway, Wainwright in the lead still debating himself while Cho and Rigsby trailed him in silence.

Teresa had feared that her plight bored the Three Musketeers but Wainwright's visit proved that there were worse things. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Van Pelt heave a sigh of relief. Obviously she preferred to stay with Teresa over listening to that windbag.

"Agent Wainwright's a confident guy," Van Pelt said as she turned back to Teresa.

"I agree that he projects an air of confidence," replied Teresa. Something told Teresa that more lurked behind the mask that Wainwright presented to the world. "Rigsby and Cho looked resigned to the fate of listening to him spell out whatever idea is in his head right now."

"He's pretty smart," Van Pelt reported with the same cold tone that one of Teresa's nurses had used to inform her of her normal temperature, normal blood pressure, and normal pulse a couple of hours before. She could tell that Wainwright was something for the Three Musketeers to endure, to neither relish nor resist.

"Do you deal with him a lot?"

Teresa saw Van Pelt's shoulders relax, and her return to informality cheered Teresa's spirit.

"No. You handle most of the contact with him. That's something we all appreciate about you. Pardon me for saying it this way, but you deal with a lot of crap so we don't have to."

Teresa's laugh prompted Van Pelt to join in.

"Thank you for being open with me."

In response, Van Pelt's face glowed.

"That's why we like working for you, Boss."

* * *

Teresa and Van Pelt talked for another hour about work - people, cases, events. As they talked Teresa could see that Van Pelt felt greater and greater comfort as the minutes passed. She felt confident about moving from work to more personal matters.

"Tell me about myself," Teresa said.

"Isn't that what we've been doing for the last hour?" Van Pelt asked.

"Yes, but I mean me as a person. Who am I outside work?"

"Boss, please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not sure how much of you there is that's not connected to work. You're pretty dedicated to what you do."

Van Pelt's answer disappointed but didn't surprise her.

"Surely I have some social life, Van Pelt."

Van Pelt looked everywhere but at Teresa, and her hands rubbed together in nervous energy.

"I don't think you date very much, at least that I've heard about."

"What have you heard?"

"Like I say, not much. The most recent thing I heard was that you'd gone out some with Jeff, uh, I can't think of his last name, anyway he's over in Narcotics."

"At CBI?"

"Yeah, but I don't think you were serious about him. I mean, that didn't stop you and Jane from…"

Van Pelt trailed off her words. That riveted Teresa's attention.

"From what?"

"Well…I'm not sure what to call it other than just hanging out together. The two of you - you and Jane - spend a lot of time together."

"So you would you say that Jane and I get along?"

Van Pelt chortled.

"Yeah, most of the time. He gets on your nerves some, but he does that with all of us. After a while you just shrug your shoulders and accept that that's Jane being Jane. And he does bring success with him - because of you."

"How do you mean?" asked Teresa.

"You help him channel his ability more than anyone else. Not that anyone can completely control Jane, but he listens to you."

Teresa welcomed the chance to open a new topic.

"So, tell me about Patrick Jane..."

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Author's notes:

Patrick Jane mentioned Jeff "from Narcotics" at the end of episode 4x22, "So Long, and Thanks for All the Red Snapper."

Sid Ascher wrote "The Very Thought Of You" in 1934, and artists including Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, and Brent Spiner (_Star Trek_!) have recorded it. My favorite however is Ella Fitzgerald's version on her album _Ella Swings Gently With Nelson - _her great voice matched with a Nelson Riddle arrangement.


	7. Accentuate The Positive

Author's notes:

My special thanks as always go to beta reader/critique partner extraordinaire Sue Shay! As mentioned before, I would not have pursued this project without Sue's help and encouragement. Her time and expertise are invaluable, and I appreciate her willingness to share them with me. Sue has just updated her current project, "Ready or Not," and her latest three chapters (40 through 42) have been a joyous thrill ride for Jane and Lisbon as well as the reader. Check out the whole story!

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter. Readers who have seen the park bench scene from episode 4x10, "Fugue in Red," will recognize aspects of it here.

* * *

Chapter 7: Accentuate The Positive

* * *

"So, tell me about Patrick Jane..."

"Boss, it's not a happy story," said Van Pelt.

What she told Teresa over the next half hour sent chills through her body. For someone to possess the evil that this Red John did to butcher an innocent woman and child, let alone all the others he had murdered, made her shudder. Even though she had asked Van Pelt to tell her, Teresa had not prepared for horror that she heard. Lurid images filled her mind about Mr. Jane coming home to find the slaughter, and nausea welled up in her stomach. After hearing the story, Teresa wanted to find him and wrap him in her arms. No wonder he had said little to her about his wife.

Van Pelt reached over to rub her shoulder.

"Boss, Jane's made progress over the years. He still swears vengeance against Red John, but he's gotten involved beyond that. He's helped the team get the highest close rate in all of CBI. Mostly he's one of us because of your influence. That's my view anyway."

"So I've gotten Jane to come out of his shell?" Teresa asked.

"You more than anyone, to the extent that he's gonna let anyone. Like I said before, you spend more time with him than anyone else," Van Pelt said.

"What about Jane's social life?"

"What social life? I mean, he has even less of one than you do."

Teresa laughed at Van Pelt's reaction to what had just come out of her mouth. Her whole face had reddened to match her hair.

"Um, Boss, um…"

Now it was Teresa's turn to comfort her new, _or was it old?_, friend. She patted Van Pelt's arm.

"That's okay. I don't mind what you said in the slightest. It sounds like I'm dedicated to my work and my team."

Van Pelt relaxed again.

"Thanks, Boss, I meant no offense."

"None taken."

Van Pelt stared at Teresa, enough that it got her attention.

"You're getting better, Boss."

"Huh?"

"You sound more like yourself again."

"Talking with you helps. When they revived me, I was terrified. All of this is still overwhelming." Teresa waved her hand at the hospital room equipment. "Thank you for your patience with me."

"For what it's worth, you're not the only one acting different."

"What do you mean?"

"I've never seen Jane so shaken up before."

* * *

While Teresa was still talking with Van Pelt, a nurse came in to check on her. When Van Pelt excused herself to meet with Cho and Rigsby, Teresa raised an issue with the nurse. She had remained in this room - the same room - for hours. Everybody came and went except her. The anxiety that she had tamped down came back stronger the longer she stayed cooped up in one place.

_Wouldn't the old Teresa Lisbon have felt the same way?_

"I want to go outside!" she said to the nurse.

Teresa was adamant. With Van Pelt gone she felt restless.

_Enough of the four walls that imprisoned her! She wanted to see sunshine and breath fresh air._

"But Ms. Lisbon, you need rest. You're still on medication," replied the nurse.

"Isn't there some place here that's outside yet still on the hospital grounds? Please." Teresa hated to sound so needy, but she was desperate to go somewhere, anywhere for a few minutes.

The nurse nodded.

"Yes. There's the garden. I'll have someone take you down there. But not for long."

"I promise. I just want to be outside for a few minutes," Teresa said.

Soon enough the nurse got someone to take her to the hospital garden.

* * *

Since her talk with the nurse, Teresa had stretched a few minutes into an hour lost in thought sitting on a bench in the garden. Even the occasional siren faded into the background. The solitude gave her time to reflect on what she had found out about herself and the people in her life. The world still frightened her but she appreciated that there were good people around her: the medical staff, her "Three Musketeers," and Mr. Jane. The thought of her friends, one in particular, warmed her heart.

Almost as if on cue when she thought of Patrick Jane, she saw the door open to the garden and Mr. Jane stride down the path toward her. He was still dressed in a three-piece suit, so out of place with the rest of her world. As he got closer, Teresa could tell he carried something under his arm.

"I heard you got folks riled up inside, that you demanded that they let you come out here for a while. That sounds like the Lisbon I know. Can't blame you. It's a beautiful autumn day, don't you think?"

Teresa inhaled the sweet fragrance of the fall foliage around them.

"It is," she said as she scooted to one end of the bench and patted the other end for Mr. Jane to join her. Sporting that smile of his that could thaw the coldest heart, he sat down next to her.

"I brought you something, one of your favorite things. Mine too," he said, lifting a bucket of strawberries from a sack. He held it in front of her face.

"Oh!" she cried out at the sight and scooped up one to taste. As soon as the berry juice squirted inside her mouth, Teresa let out a moan of pleasure. She looked over at Mr. Jane to find him studying her.

"You still like them. Good. I'd hate to think that you'd forgotten the joy of your favorite fruit," he said.

"I know I've forgotten a lot, but how could anyone forget the taste of strawberries. Have some, Mr. Jane."

He picked out one then set the bucket between them on the bench.

"This morning I learned some more from Van Pelt about you," said Teresa. His smile vanished.

"What did she say?"

"She told me the circumstances of how you came to work at CBI."

Jane took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

"My wife and my daughter were my world. Red John took them from me."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jane."

A weak smile returned to his face.

"I remember them every day."

"You told me that's why you still wear this," said Teresa as she tapped the ring on Mr. Jane's left hand. She instantly regretted her words, she could see his face cloud over with discomfort. He sat in silence for a moment. Then his expression returned to its confident air.

"That, and also there's nothing better than a wedding ring to fend off women's advances."

"Did it work with me?" He looked away from her rather than speak. She wouldn't press matters. For now.

"What did you think of your team?" he asked.

_Interesting…he changed the subject._

"They seem like a fine group of people."

"But nothing? No spark of recognition?"

"No, but I was able to sense some things about them. Rigsby never met a meal he didn't like, Van Pelt cares deeply about the people around her, and Cho…well, Cho's the reason the word 'stoic' was invented. My boss, that Luther Wainwright guy, also came by. He's full of himself."

The chuckle she produced from Mr. Jane delighted her.

"You're good at reading people."

"'Reading,' Mr. Jane?"

"You're good at observing people, sometimes almost as good as me. That's something about you that I've always admired, and we've used our combined skills to good effect over the years."

Teresa detected a whiff of conceit in Mr. Jane, something that did not set well with her.

"'Sometimes almost as good'? So you're better than me?"

"Well, yes, but you've improved so much since I came to work with you."

"Improved?"

"Yes, some of my skills have rubbed off on you. As a matter of fact, right now since you're unencumbered by any memories and therefore any responsibilities, it seems like your skill at observation has increased further. You may even give me a run for the money before this is over."

Jane patted her on the arm as if he thought that would make her feel better about what he just said.

_Sheep dip to that! s_he thought. _Wait a minute. Where did "sheep dip" come from?_

"I'm curious. Do you often talk like that with me?" She didn't exactly say that as a question.

"Like what?"

"Mildly condescending."

"No, I don't." Teresa noted the higher pitch to his voice as he thrust his hands deep in his pockets. Soon she heard the nervous jangling of coins in his pocket.

"So it's not mildly condescending, it's just plain condescending?" she asked.

"Ur, ahm, wait a minute! I am not condescending toward you. Never. Rarely. Hardly ever. Look, I like to think that I've improved over the years, at least with you."

What Mr. Jane said troubled her, but Teresa found that she did enjoy messing with him. Did her old self enjoy that as well? If she didn't know any better, she'd believe that she had totally flustered him.

"'At least with me'? So you'll still talk down to other people even if you don't with me?" she said.

"Yes, ur, ahm, hold it! You're putting words in my mouth again!"

"Am I?"

Jane's shoulders slumped. Worry lines creased his face. He fell silent for a moment before he spoke.

"The truth of it is, I'm an ass. And manipulater. And schemer. But mostly an ass. Somehow you've been able to look beyond that over the years, and I'm grateful to you for that, Lisbon."

There it was, a flicker behind his eyes that told Teresa that he meant what he had said. She decided to grant him a reprieve.

"I believe you, Mr. Jane."

He looked up, and his eyes pleaded with Teresa.

"I'd like to think we've always enjoyed a special relationship, and yes it's one that I have taken advantage of over the years. At times I've angered you and hurt you. You didn't deserve that. I've been doing a lot of thinking about how I treat you."

"Why?"

His hands began to tremble.

"Why? Because I saw you, my only real friend, the most important person in my world, floating lifeless in the water. You had gone looking for me when I had wandered off. I saw the EMTs try three times to revive you before your heart started beating again. I had given up hope," he said as his voice cracked. He drew in a deep breath.

Teresa took Mr. Jane's hands in her own, and she clasped them firmly to stifle their shaking.

"That's sweet, Mr. Jane."

"Sweet is not the word I'd use. I have a lot of guilt that I deal with, and your situation added to it."

"I can see that you're sincere. Must be those observational skills you taught me. I know my old self had to value our friendship, and I do now. Friends help each other out. We'll work through this _together_."

Patrick brightened as he squeezed her hands in return.

"Thank you, Lisbon."

"Now I want to talk about something else," she said.

"What?"

"My name. _Lisbon, Lisbon, Lisbon_,"

Teresa saw Jane's eyebrows knot into a perplexed look.

"Huh?" he asked.

"Lisbon is that other person, the person I'm supposed to be. I feel like I'm in her shadow."

"No, you're not."

"I am too. Everyone looks at me like I'm this fallen comrade, someone to feel sorry for, including you. Especially you."

"What? I can't believe you're even saying this," he said.

"It's like I'm supposed to snap out of whatever it is that's wrong with me. Then automatically I'll go back to being her. And me, who I am now, will be gone forever."

"No it won't. You're still you. There's plenty of the Lisbon I know in you now. It's just that there's no history to anchor you."

"That's it, Mr. Jane. No history. I can't conform to something I know nothing about."

"All this has gotten you upset, Lisbon."

Lisbon jerked her hands away from him, and Jane recoiled from the harsh action. She shook her finger at him, but the caustic words waiting on the edge of her tongue vanished, replaced by silence. Now she saw Mr. Jane's hands clasping and unclasping in a fit of nervous energy. Her shaking finger ceased its motion as the raw emotion between them twisted his face into a grimace. In a flash, she reached her hands back across the bench to his. He raised his eyes to meet hers.

"I'm sorry, Jane."

"I'm sorry too, Lisbon."

"You're my best friend too. I can tell that from how you treat me and how the others describe you and me. If the old me had any doubts, how you've stuck with me since I revived would banish them."

"Thank you, Lisbon."

While she continued to hold his hands in hers, she smiled at him. Jane answered with one of his own.

"I have a proposal to make," Teresa said.

"What's that?"

"While I'm me, I mean while I'm not Senior Agent Lisbon, why don't you call me 'Teresa'? I know you know how to pronounce it. You said it in the ambulance and again when you came to me in my room."

"I only rarely call you 'Teresa.' It's only been on special occasions."

"Is there any more special occasion than this? Than when your best friend has lost her mind?"

Her laugh floated across the garden, answered by Jane's own gentle chuckle.

"It's a deal, Teresa!" Jane turned his hand over to grasp hers in a handshake.

"And in turn I'll call you Patrick," Teresa said as she felt her smile morph into a grin.

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Author's notes:

Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer wrote the song "Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive" (Accentuate the Positive) in 1944, and artists ranging from Aretha Franklin to Paul McCartney to Willie Nelson have recorded it. Due to the joyful, spirited approach that she takes, Ella Fitzgerald's version from her _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Harold Arlen Songbook_ album is my favorite. You can tell Ella was having fun recording it! The twin themes of the song, accentuating the positive and eliminating the negative, sum up how Jane and Lisbon approach their relationship by the end of this chapter.

Spoiler alert for upcoming chapter: Two words - "Blue Turtle."


	8. On The Sunny Side Of The Street

Author's notes:

I can never thank beta reader/critique partner extraordinaire Sue Shay enough! Her time and expertise are invaluable, and I appreciate her willingness to share them. Have you checked out the big events in Sue's current Teresa-and-Patrick project, "Ready or Not"? Her latest post, Chapter 43, contains some of the finest laugh-out-loud humor that she's ever written. (And anyone who's read her collected works knows about Sue's deft touch with humor!) Check out the whole story.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Notes on the chapter title and a certain automobile follow the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 8: On The Sunny Side Of The Street

* * *

As Patrick approached Teresa's room, he could see the back of a man standing by her bed, someone he didn't recognize. He quickened his pace just as the visitor shifted position. Upon seeing his collar, Patrick relaxed. The visitor was a gray-haired, slightly stooped man wearing full priestly garb.

When Teresa saw Patrick, her eyes lit up in greeting. She raised her bed to a full upright position and extended her hand for him to come beside her.

"There you are, Patrick! I was hoping you would come by while the Father was here," she said as she grasped his arm. Patrick felt her give a little extra hug to his arm which he reciprocated with a pat on her shoulder.

The priest turned to face Patrick.

"So you're Patrick Jane!" he said with a big smile as he extended his hand. "I'm Father Macario McIlwee from Teresa's church, St. Michael's. I'm glad to finally meet you. Teresa has told me about you."

"Glad to meet you too, Father," said Patrick as they shook hands. He wondered what exactly Teresa had told the priest about him.

"I've enjoyed my conversation with Teresa, although I fear I'm part of the long list of people that she's reacquainting herself with."

"Father McIlwee told me that I attend his mass regularly," Teresa said.

"I would expect that, Teresa. You've shared with me many times about the importance of your faith to you."

At that moment, a commotion by the doorway attracted their attention. Dr. Suchman and a nurse walked in.

"How's my favorite patient today?" the doctor asked. "I hate to interrupt, but we need to do a quick exam."

Father McIlwee motioned for Patrick to step outside the room. They excused themselves and moved to the hallway. Once outside, Patrick noticed that a look of unease came over the priest's face.

"Mr. Jane, this is new for me. I've ministered to parishioners who've had many illnesses, but never amnesia. This is hard enough for me to deal with, I can't imagine what it's like for someone she's really close to like you."

_Just what exactly has Teresa told Father McIlwee about me?_

"It's been a challenge," Patrick said. "So, how long have you known Teresa?"

"She's come to mass for several years now. We talk frequently, and you might say I have an affinity for those who serve in law enforcement."

"How so?"

Father McIlwee laughed.

"I'm the only one in my family who didn't become a cop. My father walked a beat in Boston, my mother worked as a dispatcher, and I have three brothers and two sisters on police forces scattered across New England. I started to become a cop myself but felt another calling so I reversed course to go to seminary. You might say my siblings regard me as the black sheep of our family. Anyway, I was steeped in police culture from birth."

Patrick chuckled to himself. The two of them were similar. Father McIlwee was to the police world what he himself was to the carnie world - an outsider with an insider's appreciation.

"So, what's your assessment of Teresa?" Patrick asked.

"I talked with her for twenty minutes. I saw glimpses of her old sparkle, her decisiveness, even hints of her leadership ability, that's a good sign," Father McIlwee said.

"I agree."

"But there's a lot she's unsure of about herself and her surroundings. It appears though that her faith is intact."

"Yes, I've noticed Teresa fingering her crucifix more than usual since the attack."

Father McIlwee sighed.

"I worry about her, how she'll adjust when she leaves the hospital. There's a certain shelter here, a kind of refuge from what's outside. Just think about her going home. She'll have to face a world that's foreign to her."

Patrick had thought about that very subject, long and hard. At the same moment, he heard a snippet of the conversation between Teresa and Dr. Suchman. With a promise to keep in touch, he bid goodbye to Father McIlwee and reentered the hospital room.

* * *

Dr. Suchman had impressed Teresa as a caring person, someone she could rely on to build up her spirits. The news she brought with her on her latest visit unsettled Teresa though.

"We'll release you tomorrow, Teresa," Dr. Suchman said as she glanced over the latest test results.

"I'll go home?" Teresa asked as she reached up a finger to her crucifix.

"There's only so much we can do for you here. I still want to see you on a regular basis, and I want you to begin a program of reacquainting yourself with your life. What I hope is that when you see elements of your daily life it will trigger your memory."

"But I can't do that on my own."

"Indeed. Agent Wainwright told me that he would assign a security detail for you while they search for your attacker, but I recommend that you let someone close to you serve as your guide. Someone who knows you and can spend some time with you as you get to know your world again. It doesn't have to be 24/7, but the person needs to be someone you trust. Do you have family nearby?"

Teresa knew from her talk with Van Pelt that her family was far-flung, and her stomach churned at the thought of being alone.

"Dr. Suchman, my family is all…" Teresa started to speak but lost her words, looking for what to say.

"What Teresa wants to say, Dr. Suchman, is that her family isn't from around here. Not to worry though, I'll take care of her. I can handle that _and_ my duties at CBI."

Teresa looked up at Patrick as he came back in the room, his confident smile melting her fear of the wider world away.

"I don't want to impose on you, Patrick," she said and immediately cursed to herself that she should have simply kept her mouth shut.

"Nonsense! I'm looking forward to it. We'll reconstruct your memory. Well, except for those times when you wanted to punch me in the nose."

Patrick's good spirit was contagious. She and Dr. Suchman both laughed.

"That sounds like a good plan, Mr. Jane, although that punching in the nose thing may be a part of the recovery process for her." Dr. Suchman said.

"It'll be worth it, just as long as she doesn't hit _too_ hard." Patrick winked at Teresa.

_There's a lot worse things than taking Patrick Jane home with you. _It was then that Teresa noticed that the churning in her stomach had changed to flutters of delight.

* * *

The next morning, in the bright sunshine of a new day, Patrick and Teresa walked out to the pick-up zone of the hospital parking lot. Despite his protests, she had refused the customary ride in a wheel chair. On top of that Teresa told her nurse and Patrick that she'd carry her own suitcase, _thank you very much_.

When she saw where they were going, Teresa froze as her mouth dropped open.

"This is yours, Patrick?"

Teresa couldn't believe what sat in front of her. She shifted her gaze from the car to Patrick and back to the car trying to reconcile the two.

"Yes, it's mine," he said.

"It looks like a blue turtle squatting on the asphalt."

Patrick laughed.

"I can tell by the tone of your voice that it shocks you. Well, you're consistent with yourself. The first time the old Lisbon saw this she had the same reaction."

"This runs?" she said as they exchanged smiles. While she had no specific memories of Patrick's car or riding with him, their shared banter felt right, something that filled her with joy.

"Yes, it does. You've ridden in it many times."

"It looks different from what I pictured you would drive."

"What did you think I'd drive?"

"I thought…I'm not sure. I just didn't picture you driving something like this."

"It's a Citroën DS."

"Is Citroen a synonym for 'bucket of bolts'?"

"Ha, ha. You and I have found a lot of humor about this car over the years. You complain, I defend, we laugh."

_What a pleasant idea!_ A vivid image filled her mind - the two of them driving alone on a long trip, sharing private words and thoughts. Teresa could picture the windows rolled down, a breeze rustling through Patrick's hair, and a view of the ocean stretching out in front of them.

Patrick's hand nudging hers interrupted her thoughts. Did he want to hold her hand? The idea seemed a bit forward of him, but she was grasping her suitcase in that hand. Oh! Now she understood. With another gentle nudge from him, Teresa released her grip and Patrick took the suitcase from her, placing it in the backseat. Then he opened the passenger door and gave an exaggerated bow.

"Madam, your seat," he said with a sweeping gesture.

"Are you sure you don't need me running behind it to push while you steer?"

"Hush, Teresa." He pointed to the car seat to prompt her to sit down.

"Thank you, Patrick. I suppose if I've survived a ride in the Blue Turtle before, I'll survive this time as well."

"That's the spirit my dear!" he said as he closed the door for her.

Once underway Teresa spent her time looking around at the sights. Driving through the city unnerved her. As block after block of buildings passed by, they all blurred together.

"Recognize anything, Teresa?"

"Nothing."

"On the way to your condo I need to stop by my place to pick up some things."

"So, we're going where you live first?"

"Such as it is. I have a room at a long-term-stay motel. But I do a lot of my living at the CBI building, particularly the attic there."

"You sleep in the attic where we work?"

"Often, especially when I'm focused on something like a current case or Red John."

"You really are a strange man, Patrick Jane."

Patrick laughed.

"And I'm grateful to both the new you and the old you for accepting that."

"I think it's refreshing. You go your own way."

"And when I've gone my own way it's often ended up that you and I are at loggerheads."

"Loggerheads?"

Patrick stared at Teresa.

"There's my old Lisbon peeking through again!" he said as his voice rose.

"What?

"You just rolled your eyes at something I said. Just like the old you."

"So what you're saying is that you're heartened when I don't approve of something about you."

"I'll take what I can get."

"Maybe it means I care."

Patrick's face softened as he let out a deep sigh.

"For that I'm especially grateful, Teresa."

What Teresa found when they entered Patrick's motel room shocked her. It wasn't so much what she saw as what she didn't see. The room looked almost vacant. His personal belongings took up only part of the table tops in the room - a few books, some writing materials, and pictures. Most of his things were on a cheap nightstand by the bed.

"I need to get a few clothes. It'll be just a minute."

From the closet Patrick retrieved a suitcase which he set out on the single bed in the room. Teresa saw him sort through items in a drawer; some he put in the suitcase, some he left. While he busied himself by the drawer, Teresa walked over to the closet. She gasped when she looked inside. Lined up neatly on hangers were a row of three-piece suits, just like the ones that Patrick had worn ever since she had first seen him in the forest. Beyond the suits were several shirts, many in laundry wrappers. The sight shocked her - not because she saw anything deviant, but because it all seemed so…austere. This man had boiled his life down to the barest of essentials, nothing more than the minimum required.

Patrick's brushing past roused Teresa from her thoughts. Now he was standing beside her, looking at that same endless line of suits and shirts. Reaching around her, he plucked several items to lay beside his suitcase. Returning once more, he picked up a lone gray shirt to inspect. He groaned.

"The collar on this shirt is getting a little frayed. I probably should get rid of it, but for now it's coming with me. This old shirt has been with me a long time."

Teresa looked at the shirt as well. It didn't look that bad to her…

* * *

When Patrick nosed his car through the entrance to the condominium complex where Teresa lived, she snapped to attention. As she gave a 360-degree scan to the buildings and streets, something caught her eye. It was brief, and she suspected that her mind might be playing tricks on her. Nevertheless, she mentioned it to Patrick.

"I thought I just saw Luther Wainwright driving a car out of here."

"Huh. Maybe he just came by to check on your security setup."

"What kind of security am I gonna get, Patrick?"

"He told me an agent will be stationed outside your condo 24/7 as long as your attacker is at large. What that means in practice is that he will rotate a string of junior agents for the job, ones who haven't received a permanent assignment yet."

"Are they competent?"

Patrick laughed.

"My own personal knee-jerk reaction, what I would say to the old Lisbon, is that no CBI agents other than you and your team were competent. That would be a flippant answer; the reality is that the agents on the detail will have all been through training. They're still green, but they're good. Many have been local police officers before coming to CBI. That's how you came to CBI. From San Francisco PD. Ah, here we are."

Patrick wheeled into a parking place. When he shut off the engine, Teresa reached over to pat his arm.

"I survived the trip in the Blue Turtle after all, and I didn't even have to get out to push!" she said. Patrick said nothing, but the way his eyes crinkled with amusement charmed Teresa.

When they got inside, her condo made her think back to Patrick's hotel room. His place had been spartan, but hers didn't feel that much more homey. It impressed her as the kind of comfortable place where an unmarried professional like herself would live. Yet it still looked like an afterthought, a home because she had to have one, not a home that she spent a lot of time in.

Patrick motioned for Teresa to take a seat.

"I need to go back to the car to get my things. Well, how does your condo look to you?"

"Nothing familiar, but I can tell something about both you and me," she replied.

"What's that?"

"Our homes are mostly just addresses, not really a lot of living going on in either one." That brought a nod of agreement from him.

Patrick retrieved his things from the car to put in the guest bedroom. As he came through the living room he held the gray shirt away from the rest of his clothes and inspected it closely. He frowned.

"I'm thinking I need to get rid of this. Shouldn't have even brought it over."

Teresa looked first at Patrick, then at the shirt.

"Why don't you get settled in, I'll take care of the shirt."

"You don't mind, Teresa?"

"Run along. Leave it with me."

Patrick dropped the shirt on the sofa and then took the rest of his belongings to his bedroom. Once he had shut the door, Teresa picked up the gray shirt and went to her own bedroom.

After a half-hour on their own, the two of them converged on the kitchen.

"Let's see what's on hand food-wise, Teresa."

"Yeah. You take the frige, I'll take the pantry. We'll see what's on hand and what we'll need to get."

Teresa opened the pantry to scan the shelves, but Patrick interrupted her. It wasn't something he did; rather, what he didn't do.

_Why is he just standing there?_

When she turned to look at him, a grin greeted her.

"What?" she asked.

Patrick said nothing.

"What?" she repeated.

He chuckled.

"Your memory may not be back, but take-charge Teresa is! You've made progress."

"Good. Now get moving," she said as she swatted his arm with an unopened bag of paper towels.

Teresa and Patrick busied themselves with their inventory of what was on hand.

"There's hardly anything here," Teresa said.

She turned to see Patrick standing in front of an open cabinet holding a plastic bag. Even without the grimace on his face, she could tell he disapproved of what was in the bag. His hand held it away from his body like it contained leaking toxic waste.

"In all the years I've known you, Teresa, I'd never thought you'd eat this," Jane said as he wrinkled his nose. He handed the bag to her still keeping it at arm's length.

The wrapper on the bag said, _"Food technology breakthrough! If you like crackers, if you like cheese, if you garlic, if you like all three great tastes together, you'll love our new __**Chracker Drips**__! We inject molten processed cheese accented with synthetic garlic powder into every super-inflated cracker. Just wait until you bite into one and taste the cheese ooze out of it and onto your tongue! Available in regular, fun-size, and family-size bags! Remember, eat responsibly."_

"You're right. That's disgusting. I don't see how I'd ever want to eat crap-filled crackers," Teresa said as she dropped it into the garbage can.

* * *

It was the end of a long day. Patrick had gotten ready for bed, putting on his pajamas and bathrobe. Wanting a glass of milk from the kitchen, he walked past Teresa's master bedroom and heard the shower running inside. At this late hour, he figured that she would retire and he'd have the place to himself. Taking his glass into the living room, he turned on the TV. Clicking the remote control he at last came to the old movie channel.

Patrick settled back to watch one of his favorites when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Looking up he saw Teresa, clad only in a towel. Drops of water cascaded down from her hair onto her face and shoulders. Dampness caused the towel to cling to her, showing off every curve of her body.

The expression on her face told him that something distressed her.

"What's this, Patrick?"

* * *

Author's notes:

Jimmy McHugh and Dorothy Fields wrote "On the Sunny Side of the Street" in 1930, and artists from Ella Fitzgerald to Cyndi Lauper have recorded it. My favorite version though comes from Willie Nelson's 1978 album _Stardust_. The title and tone of the song apply to the chapter, and Mr. Nelson's laid-back style fits with the events in Teresa Lisbon's life.

According to Wikipedia, the Citroen used on the show is "eggshell blue." Do you wonder what Patrick Jane himself feels about his Blue Turtle? Sue Shay and I co-authored a story titled "Driven Beauty" that explores a particular (_or peculiar?_) relationship in Patrick's life. Readers can find it under Sue Shay's author profile or in my favorites list.


	9. I've Got You Under My Skin

Author's notes:

Thank you to beta reader/critique partner extraordinaire Sue Shay! Without her guidance and encouragement I would not have undertaken this project. Be sure to check out Sue's latest piece, "Ready or Not," a great Jane-and-Lisbon story about their relationship evolving during trying times.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 9: I've Got You Under My Skin

* * *

Teresa was perplexed. What was that? After her shower she stopped in front of the mirror. That's when she saw it.

Standing naked in her bathroom, Teresa looked herself over in more detail. Her body displayed the tone of a fit, vibrant woman. She wondered if Patrick ever noticed her, if he liked what he saw.

As she moved her eyes from lower to higher she surveyed her body all the way up to the fast-fading bruises on her neck. Wait! Something wasn't quite right. Her eyes returned to her shoulder. There her skin bore a small scar. Not much noticeable, but one nonetheless. Teresa ran her finger over the scar to confirm its presence. Once assured that it was real, she hitched her large bath towel around her body, leaving her bare shoulders exposed. Perhaps Patrick could provide an explanation.

Hearing the television in the living room, Teresa walked in. She couldn't help but smile when she saw Patrick's reaction to her entry into the room. It wasn't just that he jumped up from the sofa. No, that pleased her but didn't make the biggest impression. What stood out were his eyes. The polite way to describe his eyes would be to say that they gazed at her. The less-than-polite way to describe them would be to say that they devoured her like those of a ravenous wolf.

_Yeah, he noticed me._

"What's this, Patrick?" Teresa asked as she pointed to her shoulder.

"Oh." Despite her finger pointing to an exact spot, his eyes still roamed up and down her towel-clad body. Although the purpose of her coming into the room was to seek an answer, she enjoyed the side benefit of Patrick Jane's appreciation of her.

"Patrick?"

"Uh, I'm sorry. What did you say?"

_Ha! Patrick Jane is distracted!_

"What's this? This _thing_ on my shoulder."

Patrick moved to her side. With a gentle motion, he ran his fingers back-and-forth across her shoulder. Now it was Teresa's turn to react. She shuddered.

"You were wounded a few months back." Patrick then told her how it happened and how it related to his shooting of Timothy Carter. When he had finished, it dawned on Teresa that Patrick had never stopped rubbing her shoulder. It startled her when she realized that she herself had let out a sigh in response to his caress. Patrick heard it too. An awkwardness filled the air and Patrick let his hand drop.

"I guess I'll always have this scar."

"It's so small no one will notice unless you point it out. People will be too busy looking at…the whole you."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. You're a beautiful woman, Teresa."

"Am not. But I appreciate you saying that."

"Yes you are, and I know that not merely from looking at you."

Something about the way Patrick said that intrigued her.

"What do you mean, 'not merely from looking at you'?"

"It's a long story."

"Let me go change into something more comfortable and come back. I want to hear about this."

Back in her room, Teresa noticed a pair of shorts and a Chicago Bears jersey on top of her bed. Sizing up what she saw, she decided that must be her standard lounging-around-home attire so she slipped them on then returned to the living room. Once again Patrick was sitting on the sofa. When he spied Teresa, he moved to one side and patted on the empty space. Once she got comfortable, she looked up to see the old movie channel on the television screen. Patrick muted the sound before he turned to her.

"Alright. Explain what you said a minute ago. That sounded weird," she said.

"A few years ago I was temporarily blinded by an explosion. By the way, if anyone thought I could be a pain in the ass under normal conditions they wouldn't believe the mischief I got into while blind."

"I'll bet."

"But in the middle of my blindness, I did something to you."

"'To me'? Am I gonna punch you in the nose when you tell me?"

"No, that was another time."

_Again this "punching in the nose" business. What was up with that?_

"Okay, Patrick, continue."

"So I was blind and being a pain in the ass. You and I were talking about a case at work, and I reached out my hands to feel your face when you were smiling."

"You what?"

"I wanted to feel your smile. It turned out it was beautiful to touch as well as to see."

A tingly feeling spread across Teresa's body as she thought about more of his caresses.

At that point Patrick closed his eyes in an exaggerated manner, raised his hands to her face, and ran his fingers around Teresa's mouth. Teresa found that there was no way she could keep from smiling, and Patrick's own smile answered hers.

She giggled.

Patrick pulled back his hands. When he did that Teresa felt a void and sort of wished those hands were back on her face again.

"I also smelled you."

"Not that there would be anything creepy about that," said Teresa.

"Ha, ha. I hear the sarcasm in your voice, but I'm being completely honest with you. You smelled of cinnamon-scented shampoo, the same shampoo you used tonight judging by what my nose is picking up."

"So what are you getting at?"

"The simple fact that you are a beautiful woman, and I base that not solely on my sense of sight."

Teresa got a warm feeling all over.

"Thank you, Patrick. I'm sure the old Lisbon would appreciate that too."

"Here's the problem. I realize I never expressed my appreciation for you enough in the past. I'll try to do better."

Teresa saw what? A certain shyness come over Patrick Jane? Wow! That flew in the face of everything she had heard about him. The attack on her did have a traumatic effect on him. She saw him start to rub his hands together again and decided to put him at ease.

"What's on television?"

She saw the muscles in his face relax when she turned to the neutral topic.

"Well, I flipped through the channels and didn't find much. Just some infomercials and animals-eating-animals nature shows except for this," he said as he pointed to the movie on the screen.

"Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers," Teresa said in recognition.

"Ah, so that's something you remember," Patrick said.

"Yeah, but I never saw a whole Fred-and-Ginger movie."

"You're in luck. This one is just starting. It's _Roberta_, and it's got some great musical numbers in it."

The two of them both settled back on the sofa, their bodies millimeters apart, and they watched the movie in silence for a long time until a certain scene started to rev up. Patrick pointed at the screen and spoke.

"This music number is 'I Won't Dance.' It's pretty fun. Both Fred and Ginger get a chance to shine."

On the screen, Fred began the song by playing a piano solo. After that he smoothly picked up a baton to conduct a band. Suddenly while Fred and company were playing the tune, Ginger danced onscreen in an attempt to distract Fred. She succeeded. Fred stopped the band playing to find out what was up with Ginger. She pestered him to dance with her, he refused; hence the title of the song. Of course Fred eventually did dance.

"That's fun, Patrick."

"It is. Just picture you were someone decades ago seeing this movie when it first came out. There was nothing else like a Fred-and-Ginger movie at the time."

"And nothing like them after that either."

The time flew by for Teresa as they watched the movie. When it ended, she looked at her watch and gasped. Patrick stood up from the sofa, then offered his hand to help her up. After he pulled Teresa to her feet, she yawned and stretched.

"So…what did you think?" Teresa asked.

"Excellent film. This is the first night of a spotlight on Fred and Ginger films. The channel is featuring a different one each day. Want to watch the one tomorrow night? It's _Swing Time_."

"It's a date!" said Teresa, and she saw the flummoxed look that crossed Patrick's face when she said the word "date." Just as quickly as it appeared though it vanished, replaced by that self-assured expression she'd seen him conjure up as needed.

"Good. You'll enjoy it."

Teresa liked the idea that maybe, just maybe, she had an effect on Patrick Jane that no one else had. It warmed her spirit as she said goodnight and closed the door to her room.

Teresa settled down to sleep and didn't wake up until 4:30am when she heard the now-familiar steps of Patrick Jane as he walked down the hallway past her bedroom door. She listened as he moved on through the living room then opened and closed the front door.

What was going on?

* * *

Author's notes:

"I've Got You Under My Skin" was written by Cole Porter in 1936. Recorded by many artists, my favorite version and an inspiration for this scene is by Frank Sinatra on his album, _Songs For Swingin' Lovers_. If you'd like the song from another perspective, check out Ella Fitzgerald's version from the album _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Songbook_.

Many artists have also recorded "I Won't Dance," composed by Jerome Kern, Oscar Hammerstein II, and Otto Harbach in 1934. My favorite recording is Ella Fitzgerald's on her album, _Ella Swings Brightly With Nelson_.


	10. It's A Lovely Day Today

Author's notes:

Thank you to beta reader/critique partner extraordinaire Sue Shay! Without her expertise and critical eye I would not have pursued this project. Have you checked out the latest developments in Sue's Patrick-and-Teresa story of love and family, "Ready or Not?" Be sure to do so! Big doings in the latest chapter!

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 10: It's A Lovely Day Today

* * *

After hearing Patrick exit the front door, Teresa drifted back to sleep. When she awakened again it was to the whiff of bacon in the air and the clatter of dishes in the kitchen. She rolled over to look at the bedside clock. 7:00am. Getting up, she made her way towards the smells and sounds.

In the kitchen yet one more surprise greeted her. Patrick stood over the stove, an apron tied around his front, frying pan in one hand and spatula in the other. His back to her, he spoke.

"Ah, Teresa. Good morning! Why don't you get the orange juice out of the fridge while I finish up here?"

"How did you know that…"

"How did I know that you were skulking around behind me?"

"I wouldn't have used 'skulk,' but yes, how did you know?"

Patrick turned to face her as he raised his eyebrows.

"Ah, Teresa, that's a trade secret. Just chalk that up to my psychic abilities."

Teresa mustered the best mock-stern expression she could.

"Ha, ha. You're not psychic, you told me that yourself. It's just…just your keen observational skills."

In turn, Patrick gave his own exaggerated expression of slapping his forehead.

"Ugh. I said too much. The first rule of the con - never give away too much information to the mark."

"So now I'm a mark? And here I thought we were friends."

She meant it in jest, only to tease, but Teresa's words had an impact on Patrick beyond what she wanted. The levity in his eyes defined by the crinkles around the edges vanished, replaced by a glum downturn of his whole face. She regretted that the words ever left her mouth.

"I'm sorry, Teresa. Can we start over again?"

The whistle of the tea kettle got the attention of both of them, and she reached over to the stove behind him to shut off the cap it was on.

"There's no need. I'm not hurt. You don't treat me as a mark."

Instead of the intended effect to restore the upbeat mood, his face drooped further as his body sagged against the kitchen counter.

"But I have in the past, Teresa. Ever since your attack, I've rethought a lot of things."

Maybe other people couldn't tell but something she could feel yet not define assured her that he was sincere. She reached over to lift his chin so their eyes would meet.

"You told me that you'd taken advantage of our relationship in the past. Yet I get this sense that maybe the old me knew that all along, that maybe you and I had some unspoken understanding." Teresa let her fingers linger just below Patrick's cheek. "Isn't that right?"

"I think so, Teresa."

She smiled and gently slapped his cheek.

"Good. So don't do that again!" Teresa glanced behind Patrick and saw a butcher knife on the counter. "Otherwise, I'll have to use that on you." Teresa laughed as she nodded to the knife. He followed her line of sight then made a staged shudder.

"Please have mercy on me. I'm a work in progress, my dear."

"My dear" brought back the warmth that first greeted Teresa when she entered the kitchen.

_Something is different about Patrick this morning. What is it?_

As his face brightened again, Teresa's fingers, which had never left his face, felt something that her eyes confirmed.

"You shaved!" She ran her fingertips across both sides of his face. What had seemed to be a perpetual three-day growth of scratchy beard had been replaced by silky-smooth skin. With a languid motion, she let the tips of her fingers brush across his cheek.

"Sometimes I let myself go when I get preoccupied," Patrick replied.

Stepping back from him, Teresa crossed her arms.

"I'm not sure which I like better, that rugged, albeit scruffy recluse or the slicked up man-about-town."

"Perhaps you can mull that over while we're eating. The eggs are starting to get cold, and neither of us likes that. I also put on some coffee for you." Patrick reached behind him to present her with a steaming mug. "It's the way you always like it."

Teresa inhaled the rich aroma that rose from the cup. Taking a sip, she moaned with delight.

After eating (_Patrick's eggs and bacon are delicious!_), the two of them cleared the dishes. Patrick removed his apron which caused a wistful feeling to well up inside Teresa. He had looked so…domestic…with it on. Tugging on his suit jacket, he spun around to look at her.

"Well, I'm off to CBI. You've got my number on your cell phone, and the rookie agent _du jour_ is at a discreet distance outside. I'll be back this afternoon."

As the two of them faced each other, the word "domestic" flitted through Teresa's thoughts again. She felt like she should do something, but what?

"What would you like for dinner tonight, Patrick?"

Now Patrick was tongue-tied. After three beats he finally spoke.

"You don't have to do anything special for me. But having said that…"

"Yes?"

"If you wanted to make pasta of some sort, I would enjoy that."

"Pasta it is." Teresa's smile answered Patrick's own.

What she really wanted to tell him was that she would miss him today, it would be the longest that she'd gone without him around her since the attack. In her heart she wished they could sit on the sofa all day long and watch the old movie channel together. In her head she knew he had to work - work with the Three Musketeers to figure out who had attacked her.

Patrick hesitated. If Teresa didn't know any better, she'd think the same thoughts had flickered through his mind too. After another three beats of silence, he reached over to pat her arm.

"I look forward to it," he said.

"And I look forward to the movie tonight," she replied.

With a wave, Patrick exited. Teresa stared at the door as she heard his steps fade away.

"I wish you were staying with me today, Patrick," she whispered to the four walls.

* * *

When Teresa had called him mid-day to ask him to bring home some grocery items, Patrick's mind drifted back to his days with Angela, days from another lifetime. He remembered the times his wife called him to "bring home a thing or two." Now as he pushed a cart down the aisle between the cereal and nuts, he tried to figure out where dishwasher detergent was in this grocery store. Was it next to hand soap? Or was it across from cleaning supplies? After another fifteen minutes he had tracked down everything on Teresa's list.

As he pushed the cart toward the check-out area, the front wheel spun wildly as it jammed and unjammed. The swerving movements of the cart raised Patrick's ire, enough that he silently cursed the errand he was on.

The wheel jammed again, enough to jerk the cart off its path into a sharp right turn. Patrick looked down at it, and in a flash a memory filled his thoughts.

_This cart is just like the gurney in the forest._

Reliving the anguish made him shudder. He reminded himself that he'd been given a gift: Teresa returned._ Don't ever take that good fortune for granted._

Patrick shook himself out of his reverie and smiled as he realized where he was in the store. Spying the refrigerated display case to his left, he peered inside it to look at all the different colorful choices. Then he did something he hadn't done in the years since Angela - he opened the glass door to make a selection.

* * *

Teresa heard the scratching around the door and wondered if she should call the CBI agent _du jour_ as Patrick had called her protective detail. As she reached for her phone, the noise around the door took on a precise sound - a key twisting around the lock. She relaxed. Before she could move toward the door though, it burst open like a slingshot hurling around its load. Grocery bags spilled onto the living room floor followed by a man with wavy blond hair tumbling in. A grapefruit from one of the bags rolled across the floor until Teresa trapped it under her left foot. Looking to Patrick, she saw him sprawled amid four upended bags. Despite the chaos around him, one thing hadn't hit the floor. In his right hand, through some super-human effort, he held aloft a vase filled with flowers. A lovely autumn mix of reds, yellows, and oranges.

Teresa took three steps over and looked down on a boyish grin of triumph as Patrick handed the flowers up to her.

"I saw these and thought you'd like them for the kitchen table."

"They're beautiful. I'm glad they didn't spill, Patrick."

"Me too," he said as he slowly gathered everything else back into the bags. "You always liked these seasonal arrangements."

"I still like them," Teresa said as she sniffed their fragrance with a deep breath. Setting the vase down on the kitchen table, she helped Patrick put away the groceries.

"So, what did you do today?" Patrick asked later as he sacked the trash from the waste basket.

"Well, the first part of the morning I watched television. I may not have my memory but it didn't feel like that's something I'd normally do."

"Ugggh. I agree. Nothing good to watch during the daytime."

"Tell me about it. It seemed like every channel had reruns of cop shows, and my mind is working good enough to see that those shows have no link to reality."

Patrick shrugged his shoulders.

"You could say that about any fiction - books, movies, TV shows. They all take liberties."

"Yeah, but on top of that those cop shows all looked alike."

"How's that?"

"No matter what channel I flipped to, no matter what show, they seemed to have a pattern."

"Oh, do tell me what pattern you deduced, Agent Lisbon."

"Most often they have two leading characters."

"That idea's been around at least since Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson."

"I did notice a little variation. Sometimes the two leads are of different sexes."

"One could argue that those shows add a certain dynamic, a sexual tension to attract the viewer."

"Yeah, if it's done right. Otherwise, it comes off forced. No art, no humor, no chemistry."

"Agreed."

"What if we were the characters on a TV show, Patrick?"

Patrick scoffed at her words.

"It'd never work. We're too much grounded in the real world for something like a TV show."

"Oh, I don't know about that. Think about it. Me, a senior agent in a law enforcement agency. You, my consultant in solving crimes."

"Now that you mention it…" Patrick smiled.

"We'd be just as good as the ones you see TV, better really."

"You've got a point, Teresa."

"I'd be the lead character and you'd be my sidekick."

Patrick's smile left him. "Not hardly."

* * *

When they sat down to dinner, Patrick gushed over Teresa's cooking. With his first bite of her pesto primavera, he closed his eyes to savor the taste.

_Where did she learn to cook like this?_

When he opened his eyes, he found Teresa staring at him with a hopeful look.

"My dear, this is wonderful. You never told me you were such a good cook."

She beamed.

"Works both ways, Patrick. Breakfast was delicious too."

"We found out something new about each other, Teresa. So, tell me about the rest of your day."

"The truth? I missed you being here. That is until later in the morning."

"What happened?"

"I had a visitor right before lunch time."

"Visitor?"

"Yeah, the new Assistant Manager of this condo complex. You know, CBI isn't the only place that's run by titles and acronyms. Everybody we ran into who knew the Assistant Manager used the initials A.M. Kinda like CBI people use 'Boss' or 'Agent.'"

"Everybody you ran into?"

"Yeah. We talked for a long time here. Eventually the A.M. invited me to lunch over at the snack bar in the main condo building, even bought my meal for me."

"Just how long did you spend with this A.M.?" Patrick hoped that Teresa didn't detect any tension in his voice.

"I lost track. It seemed like the time just flew by. Lunch was so much fun, sharing a laugh, finding out about each other, discovering what we have in common. It made me feel alive. I had been so lonely after you left."

"Come to CBI with me tomorrow, Teresa."

_Why am I on edge? I don't own Teresa. Where has my self-control gone?_

"Oh. I didn't know you wanted me to come with you."

"I think it'll be good for you, let you get a feel for your workplace, see if anything clicks."

The voice inside Patrick's head was raging: _Was that the real reason you wanted her to come with you tomorrow? It wouldn't be any feelings of… Stop it!_

Patrick tried to clamp down on his out-of-control thoughts but failed because of what Teresa said next.

"I didn't know you wanted me to go with you to CBI. The A.D. and I had made plans for tomorrow. We were going to spend the afternoon together."

"Cancel. Come with me." _Did my voice come off as strident? Insistent? Why can't I control myself?_

"But I had so much fun. I didn't want lunch to end."

"I need you, Teresa."

_Ahhh! That's not what I'd wanted to say at all. Must…control…tongue…Must…control…tongue… _Thankfully Teresa didn't seem to catch what came out of his mouth.

"Then the Manager of the complex stopped by our table. When he looked at the two of us he shook his head."

"Was he mad that his assistant had spent the morning with you?" _I hope Teresa didn't notice the edge in my voice._

"That's what I thought too, but instead he laughed. The manager told us that we looked like sisters."

"Oh." Patrick hoped that Teresa didn't catch the little sigh that came out under his breath. Luckily, Teresa was in the midst of a cough and had turned her head away. The poor dear had gotten choked on some food, and when she turned back to Patrick, her eyes were watery.

_That was close! I've got to get myself under control._

"Yeah. He said Sunshine and I looked a lot alike."

"Sunshine? Interesting name. What commune was she born on?"

"Oh, hush. That's just her nickname. Anyway, Sunshine and I were gonna go shopping tomorrow, but now that you want me to come with you I guess we'll have to change plans."

Patrick felt relief wash over him. Surely he had retained his self-control enough to mask any emotions from Teresa.

* * *

Oh how Teresa had enjoyed seeing Patrick squirm when she talked about Sunshine! It didn't dawn on her until the middle of their conversation that she hadn't mentioned Sunshine's gender and that her words could take on more than one meaning. Only when she noticed Patrick cross his arms and purse his lips did she realize what she had said - and hadn't said. Was Patrick upset? Maybe just a little jealous? She tested more, and his physical tics increased. His fists clenched.

_I do affect Patrick!_

When at last she told him about the "sisters" remark, you could have heard that thunderous sigh of his into the next county. Teresa had to bite her lip. Turning her head, she forced a cough to strangle her guffaw. Her effort to stifle herself caused the sides of her eyes to moisten, and she rubbed the sleeve of her blouse across her face. When she turned back to face Patrick, he had composed himself again. Or tried to.

_He looks so cute when he's trying to cover up from me!_

The rest of the evening flew by. Patrick quizzed Teresa on a variety of topics - school, family, job history - all with the same result. She knew a lot about _things_ in general, but she knew nothing about _people_ in specific. And "people" also included her personal history. Her upbeat mood withered as the list of all she had forgotten grew.

_Thank God for Patrick_. He had sensed her growing despair and eased up on the pace of questions. Still, she couldn't avoid feeling downcast by the end of their session. Teresa revived though when Patrick clasped both her hands in his.

"Teresa, I know this has been hard for you. It's hard for me too. I hate seeing you like this, but Dr. Suchman says this will help in the long run."

Teresa nodded as she dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

"It's just that so much is gone from my mind. It's daunting."

"We'll keep at it. You're making progress, my dear."

"My dear" prompted Teresa to reach out for Patrick. She embraced him with as tight a squeeze as she could muster. His patience, his kindness, his concern had made the process bearable. On impulse, Teresa kissed his cheek.

"I couldn't do this without you, Patrick."

Patrick rocked her back and forth in his arms until the tension left her. A certain awkwardness crept up on the two of them, and in silence they broke apart to clean the debris from dinner off the table. After that they retired to their bedrooms to change, promising to return in time for that night's Fred-and-Ginger movie.

_Is this what married life is like? Is this like the life Patrick used to know with his wife?_ For her a life like that was a mystery, and her memory loss didn't have anything to do with that.

While she sat on the bed in her room thinking about that, Teresa heard Patrick walk back to the living room. After putting on her Chicago Bears jersey she followed a moment later. Once in the living room she plopped down on the sofa beside him and Patrick switched on the old movie channel. Soon they both became caught up in _Swing Time._

Too soon, much too soon, the movie ended. Teresa realized that she had leaned forward through much of the movie, so wrapped up in it that she couldn't wait to see what Fred and Ginger did next. When she stole a look at Patrick, he was staring at her with a bemused look.

"What are you looking at?" she asked.

"You. How relaxed you are. It's rare, if ever, that I've seen you like you are now."

"I was just enjoying Fred and Ginger."

"My point exactly, Teresa. You let yourself have fun."

"How could you not watching them?"

"I'm just glad you enjoyed it - and I got to see you enjoy it."

Patrick stood and extended his hand to help Teresa to her feet. In the hallway they bid each other goodnight and Teresa found herself once again in her bedroom, alone with her thoughts.

Her favorite scene in the movie had been when Fred and Ginger sang "Pick Yourself Up" to each other followed shortly with dancing. Their dance started in a circled area bounded by a low-slung fence. Awkward at first, they quickly fell in sync with each other. Soon their movements took them to the edges of the circle and eventually they leaped over the fence, still dancing with abandon. At the end Fred and Ginger walked away arm-in-arm in triumph.

Why did jumping over the fence enthrall Teresa so much? Something about the couple moving beyond their boundaries appealed to her. There was a feeling that lurked just beyond what her mind could grasp, a feeling that she wanted to break free like Fred and Ginger.

And she knew whom she'd like to break free with.

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Irving Berlin wrote "It's a Lovely Day Today" in 1950. The song celebrates the idea of a couple simply enjoying each other's company. Sound familiar? My favorite recording is Ella Fitzgerald's version on her album _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Irving Berlin Songbook_.

"Pick Yourself Up" is a better known song, written by Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields in 1936. Many, many singers have recorded "Pick Yourself Up," but my favorite remains Ella Fitzgerald's version on the album _Ella Swings Brightly With Nelson_.

I recommend both these songs anytime someone has the blues and wants a pick-me-up.

Thank you for reading, following, and reviewing the story.


	11. Bewitched, Bothered, And Bewildered

Author's notes:

Thank you as always to the great writer Sue Shay. Is there a better story-doctor in the business? Nope! Speaking of Sue, have you read the latest monitor-melting chapters of her "Ready or Not" project? Check them out!

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 11: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered

* * *

Teresa sat on the side of her bed, dressed in her navy pants suit and her peach blouse. She fingered her crucifix as stress surged through her body. When she had asked Patrick over breakfast what she should wear, he had suggested that outfit. He told her it reflected her standard wardrobe at work.

After she dressed, she stood in front of the mirror for ten minutes, looking for any hint of familiarity. She found none. The image she saw was just Teresa Lisbon in business attire, nothing more, nothing less. The void in her mind overwhelmed her again, so much so that she sank down onto her bed.

A gentle rapping on the door startled her.

"My dear, are you ready to go?"

She dabbed the edges of her eyes with a tissue.

"Just a minute."

"I can hear the tension in your voice. What's wrong."

"Nothing."

"When your voice is cracking, that defeats the whole meaning of the word 'nothing.' Something _is_ wrong. Let me come in."

"No, Patrick, I'm alright."

"Are you naked?"

Something about his propriety made her laugh.

"No. I'm dressed in the outfit you told me to wear. But go away."

_I don't want him or anyone else seeing me like this._

"I'm coming in, Teresa."

The door swung open and Patrick, dressed in his usual three-piece suit, walked in.

"Remind me to lock the door to my bedroom next time." She sniffled.

"Wouldn't have made any difference. I know how to pick locks. You do too for what it's worth."

He sat down beside her on the bed.

"I suppose I learned that from you?" _Why was I so foolish to tell Patrick to go away? Just having him near lifts my spirits._

"No, you picked that up somewhere else. By the way, I get the impression that I'm the only person you've ever shared that with, so don't broadcast that around the CBI building."

Mentioning the CBI building made her tense up again. Patrick noticed at once.

"What's wrong, Teresa?"

"It's all so daunting. I believe you about this outfit being what I would wear…and I realize I have to go back to CBI sometime…and…and I know Dr. Suchman told me to reacquaint myself with my life. But…what if I never get my memory back?

"Don't talk like that. Your memory will come back. I'm sure of it. We'll work through it together."

Her mind latched onto his words, one in particular. _Together._ That single word made Teresa smile and her tension ease. After taking a deep breath, she patted his wrist.

"I'm okay now. Let's go."

She started to get up, but Patrick grasped her arm to still her motion.

"Before we leave, I made something for you. It's in honor of your return to CBI."

"You didn't have to do anything for me."

_But I'm so happy you did! _When he said he had "made" something for her, that caused her heart to flutter.

From his jacket pocket he pulled out an object and placed it in her hands. Looking down, she saw a small origami figure. A frog. One colored with blue and orange inks.

"After I suggested the navy suit and peach blouse, I rummaged around for suitable marker pens. The closest I found were bright blue and orange. It's the thought that counts, right?"

"So I'm a frog in a business suit. Is that what you're trying to say?"

Teresa smiled when she flustered him.

"No, you're not a frog! That's not what I meant at all. Well, okay, now I can see how what I did might have caused you to think that…"

"Hush, Patrick!"

What he had done was so sweet, so caring, so lovely, she couldn't bear to see him twist himself in a knot, especially if it was one of her own design. She grabbed him into a tight hug.

"I meant it in fun, not offense. Please believe me, Teresa."

"I do. Thank you. You know I couldn't handle all this without you. You make this bearable." She reached over to place the frog on her bedside table. "This frog is going right here so I can look at it before I fall asleep and when I wake up."

The two of them stood.

"Shall we go to work, my dear? The Blue Turtle awaits us."

"Did you park it on an incline so we could get a running start?"

"Hush, Teresa!"

Their laughter echoed down the hallway as they exited the door. Once outside, a thought flitted through her mind.

_What if I were a frog like in the fairy tale? A princess just waiting to be kissed by a handsome Patri…er…prince. _

As that pleasant thought lingered in her mind, Patrick opened the door of the Blue Turtle for her.

* * *

_Stop at the gate in the parking lot. Smile at the attendant who knew my name. _

_Move through security. Flash my badge to a pair of guards who called me "Agent." _

_Walk down a hallway in the CBI building. Nod to all the well-wishers who called me "Lisbon" or "Ma'am" or once even "Teresa." _

_Fight the panic boiling inside me._

Teresa ran the gauntlet at CBI headquarters. Just getting to her team's area of the building had strained her emotions. So many people stopped her and Patrick to talk, to express their concern for her, that her energy had drained away by the time he led her into an office - her office. As she sat down in a desk chair, the familiar faces of Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt - her Three Musketeers, appeared in the doorway.

"Hey, Boss! It's great to see you back here." Van Pelt's cheerful voice buoyed her spirits.

"It's good to be back, I guess. There's a lot to get familiar with again." Teresa stole a glance over to Patrick, and he nodded in return.

"Let's give her a little space. I'm gonna go make myself some tea," said Patrick. At his words, the Three Musketeers exited. Before turning to leave as well, he spoke once more using their personal familiarity. "Call me if you need me, Teresa. We'll go through some mugshots of suspects after you get settled in."

She scanned the area. It looked pretty normal to her for a work area: papers, office supplies, and a computer.

When Teresa opened her desk drawers, she began to find a few personal items. Mixed in with the paper clips and note pads were things like a sewing kit, a San Francisco Police Department refrigerator magnet…and a three-quarters-full bottle of whiskey with a pair of shot glasses. Humph. Teresa knew she wasn't an alcoholic because she hadn't had a drink since she came home from the hospital and hadn't even felt a craving for one. The bottle and glasses must have been there only for special occasions, not for daily intake. Still, it would be best to keep that knowledge to herself.

She continued to move quickly through the desk drawers until she got to the last one on the bottom left-hand corner.

"_Gasp."_

In a reflex movement, Teresa brought her hand up to cover her mouth. Lined up neatly in the drawer were three rows of origami frogs, just like the one that Patrick had presented to her that morning. Did he know about the secret stash that the old Lisbon had kept of his gifts? Lifting up one of the frogs as if it were made of the most delicate porcelain, she admired the tight creases and sharp angles of the creature.

_Beautiful gifts from a fine man._

* * *

Teresa looked around her office for a while, yet nothing stirred her memory. From the bullpen she heard the voices of the Three Musketeers and Patrick. While she couldn't make out the exact words they said, the tone made it clear these people enjoyed a level of comfort with each other. Laughter accented the chatter, and she could sense the good spirits among the four of them. Wanting to get a better look at how the team dealt with each other, she moved unobserved to the edge of their area. What she saw brought a smile to her face.

Patrick, standing in the middle of the Three Musketeers' desks, was acting like a showman in front of an arena full of people. He had Rigsby and Van Pelt's attention riveted to him. In contrast, Cho sat in silence at his desk with a book in his hand.

_Cho's pretending to read but he's taking in everything that's going on with Patrick and the other two._

With the voice of a master of ceremonies, Patrick addressed the other two agents.

"Rigsby and Van Pelt. I've written down a fetish for each of you, something that makes your heart go flutter, makes you weak at the knees…or makes your body do other things that shall remain nameless. I am sealing each piece of paper in its own envelope. Then I will hand them to you."

_Okay, Patrick, you've got my attention too._

"Why seal them in an envelope, Jane? Why not just hand them to us? It's not that big a deal." Rigsby shook his head.

"Silence! Do not interrupt the master when he is at work."

That brought a snicker from Van Pelt.

"Silence to you too, Van Pelt! The two of you have no sense of theater."

"Or shame." Cho finally said something.

"Silence to you too, my stoic friend. May I remind you that you chose not to participate in this little exercise, so you forfeit your right to comment."

Cho grunted, never raising his eyes from the book.

Patrick turned his attention back to the other two. With an exaggerated swish of his arms, he handed one envelope to Van Pelt and the other to Rigsby.

"Read it and weep. Or be amazed. Or something like that. Regardless, I'll be able to tell by the expressions on your faces whether I'm right or not."

Rigsby glanced up at Jane before tearing open his envelope. Turning hers over, Van Pelt took a more precise approach to pulling off the seal from hers. All the while Patrick stood between their desks, his face filled with confidence as he rocked back-and-forth on his feet.

_Patrick is in his element right now, and I don't have to have any memory to tell that._

Van Pelt was the first to react. She let her piece of paper fall to the desk as she covered her mouth with both hands. Her face began to color to the same shade as her hair.

Rigsby's hand started to shake when he read his piece of paper while his jaw dropped open like a fish. Quickly he crumpled his piece of paper and shoved it in his pocket. Seeing his action, Van Pelt did likewise with hers.

"How did you know?" asked Rigsby with wide eyes.

"Yeah, how did you?" Van Pelt's voice was cracking.

"I just know."

"Okay, Jane. What's your fetish?" asked Rigsby.

"Yeah, 'fess up, Jane." Van Pelt chimed in.

"Nope. Never question the master, acolytes."

"But that's not fair. You know something very private about the two of us."

"Fair has nothing to do with it, Van Pelt. I know and you don't. Case closed."

Jane resumed rocking back-and-forth on his feet, his hands clasped behind his back, smug satisfaction etched across his face.

"I've had enough of this. Let's go get some coffee, Van Pelt."

"I'm with you, Rigs. The air's gotten stuffy in here all of a sudden."

_Does Patrick do this all the time?_

Rigsby and Van Pelt gave Jane a wide berth as they moved out of the bullpen. On their way to the break room they passed by Teresa. Van Pelt gave her a weak smile.

Teresa turned her attention back to Patrick and Cho when she heard their voices.

"Strapless dresses."

"What?"

_What?_

"Your fetish, Jane. Strapless dresses. Or maybe I should say women's bare shoulders."

Still undetected by the two men, Teresa almost broke out in laughter when she saw the stunned expression on Patrick Jane's face.

_I don't need to be a mind reader to see that Cho scored a direct hit with that observation._

"I…I…I…"

"Save the denial. You and I both know it's true."

"How did you know?"

Cho kept his eyes on his book.

"So '_the master'_ demands an explanation?"

"Well, yeah."

"I saw the way you acted that time you saw Lisbon in the bridesmaid's dress. I think the term 'gob smacked' would fit," Cho said.

Patrick's shoulders slumped.

"Well, my friend, you got me."

"Yeah, it was the bare shoulders. And also the fact that it was Lisbon."

Patrick's shoulders slumped further as a grunt was the only thing to come out of his mouth.

"I got another observation for you, Jane."

"What's that?"

"You've got it bad. Real bad."

Now it was Teresa's turn to be gob smacked.

* * *

At lunch, Patrick took Teresa to a place called Marie's. He told her it was one of her favorites, and she soon understood why. Smells of fresh baked goods wafted around the booth where they sat, and stress that had built up during the morning melted away. All that remained was the two of them sharing a meal and conversation. That suited her just fine.

Later back at CBI, Patrick spread out three dozen photos on a table in front of Teresa. He had grabbed an empty interrogation room so she could go through pictures of suspects in her attack in peace. While she sifted through them, she could feel Patrick's eyes on her, looking for any hint of recognition.

She was now on her second pass through the photos. There were all sorts of people in the pictures - men, women, young, old, formal clothes, casual attire, work uniforms. The only common theme she could see was that many wore firefighter uniforms. That made sense because Patrick had told her that the attack occurred behind a firehouse.

"Anything?" Patrick asked as Teresa placed the last photo in a stack in front of her.

"Nothing."

He reached into the stack to pull out two of the photos. One was a man who looked to be in his thirties, the other was a teenage girl.

"What about these, Teresa? Take a good look."

Again she stared at the two photos. Lifting her gaze from the photos to Patrick, she shook her head.

He sighed, and she saw his shoulders slump just like when Cho had "outed" him on his fetish.

_Something's not right. Patrick wanted me to recognize these two._

"Who are these people?" she asked. "There's something more about these two than you're telling me."

Patrick exhaled heavily as he raised his eyes to meet hers.

"They aren't suspects. These two are your brother Tommy and your niece Annie. They were here a few weeks ago. You had me take their pictures. Here's another one that I removed from your office before you went in there this morning."

Patrick handed Teresa a framed photo of her standing arm-in-arm with her brother and niece. She was in the middle of the picture, smiling as she pulled Tommy and Annie to her in a hug. Looking at it, she saw a big sister, proud to be with her brother and his daughter. The sight of the happy trio caused her breath to catch.

"This hurts. It hurts so bad. I look at me in that picture, someone with a whole life that's gone now."

_I hate being this vulnerable. I may not have my memory, but this is not the real me._

Without thinking, she had raised her arms toward Patrick. He jumped up from his chair to circle around the table to her. She rose and they met in a tight embrace. Against her will, the tears flowed - yet again - down her cheeks.

"We'll keep working on it. We will." Patrick patted her on her back as she buried her face on his shoulder. She let the spasms of sobs play out but stayed in their embrace even when her tears stopped. After a few moments, silence took over as the two of them gently swayed back and forth.

"Boss, I thought I'd bring in the report from the crime scene so you could have a…" Van Pelt froze once she took two steps into the room. She gaped at the scene before her, the two of them with their arms around each other. Teresa smiled weakly at Van Pelt while Patrick turned his face to look at her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I'll just leave these folders on the…"

"Van Pelt. I'm glad you're here. I need you to do a favor for me. Please take Teresa to the cafe for a break while I brief Cho."

"Okay, Jane." Van Pelt looked back and forth between the two of them.

Teresa looked at Patrick. _Please say you'll meet me there as soon as possible._

He understood immediately.

"I'll be along as quickly as I can, Teresa."

In response she nodded and walked out with Van Pelt.

* * *

As she sat with Van Pelt at a cafe table, Teresa relaxed. There was nothing new to her situation, it hadn't gotten worse. All that had happened at CBI merely confirmed her memory loss. Still, it upset her.

A motion from Van Pelt prompted Teresa to look at her. Van Pelt tapped Teresa's hand to focus her attention.

"Jeff from Narcotics is here."

"Who?"

"The guy I told you about. The one you were dating."

Out of the corner of her eye, Teresa saw the guy. He didn't look bad, as a matter of fact most people would consider him handsome. Dressed in the standard CBI male uniform of a coat and tie, Jeff was rubbing one hand on his pants leg and carrying something in the other. All the while he talked to two other men. Their conversation broke up and he turned to leave. Looking over their way, he saw Teresa.

"He's coming over this way, Van Pelt. Are you sure you don't know what the status of our relationship is?"

"I don't other than an impression."

"And that impression was that we weren't serious?"

"Right. You may not even be seeing him now."

When Jeff got within a few feet of the table, Teresa spied Patrick walk into the area. Seeing Jeff, Patrick reversed course away from Teresa and headed to the cafe counter.

"Teresa! Good seeing you out and about again," Jeff said as he reached out to pat her on the shoulder. She noted that it was the same hand that a few moments before had been rubbing his pants leg.

"It's good to get out again."

Much to Teresa's displeasure, Van Pelt greeted Jeff, said goodbye to Teresa, and left the table. As she passed behind Jeff, Van Pelt gave a shrug of her shoulders. Jeff's speaking pulled Teresa's attention back to him.

"Listen, I wanted to come by the hospital but we had a case in San Diego that we had to scramble down there to handle. Maybe you saw it on the news? It's our biggest bust so far this year!" She heard the pride bordering on arrogance in the tone of his voice.

"No, I've missed out on a lot of things since my…situation…came up."

Jeff sat down where Van Pelt had been sitting.

"Care for one of these?" Jeff asked as he held the bag he was carrying aloft.

Chracker Drips! A shudder vibrated from the top of Teresa's head to the tips of her toes.

"No thanks."

If she thought that's the worst she would see from Jeff, she was mistaken. He reached his hand to his lips, then sucked his fingers. After that he bit down on one of his nails. Teresa cringed.

_Was that intensely disgusting? Or was it particularly disgusting?_

Finished with his hand fixation, Jeff hummed and hawed for a moment.

"Teresa, I'm sorry that we quit seeing each other. We had some good times together, at least I felt that way and hoped you did too. I know you've turned me down lately, but I'm still interested in us getting back together if you're ever willing."

There it was. They had been going out but had stopped. And it was she, Teresa, who had put a stop to it. Now Jeff had opened the door to them getting back together. She took a good look at him. No doubt he was a good catch…for someone else.

"Well, ahm, Jeff, you're a great guy…" Teresa sifted around in her thoughts for some words to say but something captured her attention.

Patrick from over at the cafe counter waved to her. First he held aloft an ice cream sundae, next he held aloft one spoon then two spoons with an inquisitive look. The two of them did indeed have a special bond because she knew at once the message he was sending. She held up two fingers.

Seeing her hand gesture, Jeff turned around in his chair and saw Patrick as well. In response, Patrick grinned at Jeff and tapped the two spoons on the lip of the sundae glass. Jeff turned back to Teresa.

"You don't have to say anything, Teresa. It's not like I didn't suspect."

"Jeff…"

Jeff waved for her to be quiet.

"We had some fun, but when we were together I could tell your head and your heart were somewhere else. You're a great gal, Teresa, I hope he knows that."

"Thank you, Jeff."

"Looks like there's a lucky guy over there who gets to share a sundae with you. I'll be on my way now."

With a wave to Patrick, Jeff got up from the table and exited. In what seemed like a micro-second, Patrick crossed the floor to slip into the chair that Jeff had vacated.

"Was I interrupting something, Teresa?"

_Ha! He knew exactly what he was doing!_

"No, just chatting with Jeff from Narcotics. It's hard to meet, or should I say re-meet, people when there's nothing to anchor your mind. He seems like a nice guy."

Patrick grunted in response.

_Well! That grunt tells me what Patrick thinks of Jeff._

With a smile, he handed her a spoon and the two of them commenced eating the sundae.

"This is so good!" she said.

"Strawberry sundaes. It's what you live for," replied Patrick.

"This tastes so good, it makes up for the lack of progress we made this afternoon."

"Well, it wasn't a total loss. We do know one thing more now," said Patrick. Teresa couldn't make out the expression on his face.

"What's that?"

"We know where the Chracker Drips in your condo came from."

* * *

After they finished their sundae, Teresa and Patrick headed back to the team's area to talk with Cho. Meeting him along the way, the three of them walked back together. As they made their way down the narrow hallway, they met Rigsby escorting out a man wearing a visitor's badge. Rigsby barely glanced at them, but the visitor was a different story.

The visitor had been carrying on a lively conversation with Rigsby, but he stopped mid-sentence when he saw Teresa. His eyes widened, the color drained from his cheeks, and he moved as close to the far wall as he could while they passed. Once past Teresa, she noticed that he turned his head back to stare at her. Of course she was staring at him too.

If she had upset the man, his reaction had upset her. As soon as Rigsby and the other man were out of sight, Teresa grabbed Cho and Patrick's sleeves each with one hand. She tugged the two of them with her into an empty office area.

"Did you see how that visitor acted when he saw me?" she asked.

Both men nodded.

"Did you recognize him?" asked Patrick.

"No, I didn't."

Patrick turned to Cho to ask him a question.

"Who was that man?"

"Tom Wilcox. Paul Satterfield, the murder victim, saved Wilcox from a home fire the same day that he was killed," Cho said as he glanced at the notes on a clipboard he was carrying.

"I couldn't recognize him, but I just know something's not right about him. I have a feeling he may be the one who attacked me." Teresa rubbed her crucifix with nervous energy.

"I agree." Both Patrick and Cho replied at the same time.

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Author's notes:

"Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered" is a song written by Richard Rogers and Lorenz Hart in 1940. Numerous singers have recorded the song, and my favorite is Ella Fitzgerald's version for her album _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Rodgers & Hart Songbook_. The reader can decide whom the title applies to most, Teresa Lisbon or Patrick Jane or both.

Thank you for reading, following, and reviewing the story.


	12. S Wonderful

Author's notes:

Thank you as always to the great writer Sue Shay! Her guidance has helped shape order out of chaos. In particular, I appreciate her help with the church scene in this chapter. Among other things, she suggested the link of St. Michael and police officers. Speaking of Sue, be sure to check out the latest on her romance-and-family project "Ready or Not."

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Readers who have seen episode 4x24, "The Crimson Hat," will recognize a role reversal of the church scene from that episode.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 12: 'S Wonderful

* * *

Teresa Lisbon sat alone on her sofa, staring at Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers as they cavorted on-screen in _Follow the Fleet_.

_Oh how I wish Patrick were sitting beside me._

She wished that he and Cho hadn't sent her home after their encounter with Tom Wilcox in the hallway at CBI. If it had only been one of the two of them arguing with her she might have prevailed, but with both men making the case she gave up and let the agent _du jour_ drive her home.

One lonely event followed another back at the condo. While she finished the daily chores, she missed the jests that she and Patrick traded back and forth. When she sat down at the dinner table to eat the warmed-over remnants of pesto primavera, she missed his exaggerated yet gallant gesture of holding out her chair for her. After dinner she missed the way they would brush against each other while cleaning off the table and loading the dishwasher.

Now that she had the big sofa all to herself, it engulfed her and made feel even more alone. Fred and Ginger provided some company, but it wasn't the same without Patrick. She clutched a pillow to her chest as one image on the television screen gave way to the next.

Scratch, scratch, scratch went a noise from the doorway.

_Patrick, you're home!_

She heard his key twist around in the lock. The door swung open to reveal a man clearly worn out: tufts of his hair stood out at odd angles, his shirt was askew underneath his jacket, and his back slumped at an angle. When she left CBI, Patrick and Cho had already begun to comb the records for anything about Tom Wilcox, calling out to each other as they found something.

_No wonder he looks worn out. Doing that for hours had to have strained them both._

When Patrick saw her though, he transformed in a flash. His posture straightened and a big grin stretched across his face.

"You're still awake!"

Teresa scooted over on the couch to make room for him.

"How could I go to sleep when Fred and Ginger are on?"

"The movie's still on? I'd hoped I could catch at least some of it." He sprawled out on his end of the sofa after he patted her shoulder. "I'm exhausted. Not only did Cho and I go through the case files again at CBI, we also spent two hours at Wilcox' burnt-out house searching for clues."

Soon the big musical finale, "Let's Face the Music and Dance," came on. Fred sang the lyrics with a tinge of melancholy - the scene depicted two lonely people finding solace in each other as a harsh world swept them along. Of course they were _dressed to the nines_ as the old saying goes. Ginger's character might be down-on-her-luck, but her evening gown was pure elegance! Energized by Patrick's arrival, Teresa let herself get wrapped up in the drama, music, and dance.

When she heard the word "moonlight" in the song, she glanced over at her own moonlight man. Too soon the movie ended, but at least now Patrick was with her.

"So, you made progress after I left?" she asked as she clicked off the television.

Patrick roused himself to an upright position before his reply.

"The more Cho and I looked at the situation, the more we agree with you about Wilcox being your attacker. I won't bore you with the details, but we've put together a circumstantial case that links him to your attack, the firefighter's murder, and a fatal ATM heist. What we need now is to get Wilcox to reveal the money he took from that last crime. Cho and I have a plan that we'll put into action tomorrow."

"Sounds like somehow you were able to get along without me."

Patrick sighed.

"I prefer to work with you on a case, but Cho is good. He's got a fine mind, and the three of us think very much alike. You've trained him well."

"Was that a compliment?"

"For both you and Cho. Teacher and student. But don't tell Cho, I wouldn't want it go to his head."

"You aren't afraid what you just said will go to my head?"

"Nah. Besides, you deserve every compliment I can give you."

With that thought, they walked down the hallway to their bedrooms and bid each other goodnight. Once her head hit the pillow, Teresa felt her whole body give way to sleep.

The next thing she knew, it was 7:30am on her bedside clock.

_7:30am!_

Raising herself up, she sniffed the air for the aroma of bacon. It was there but much, much fainter this morning. As she twisted her body around on the bed, a rustling noise on top of her blanket got her attention. She spied a piece of paper pinned to the top of it.

_Teresa - You were sleeping so peacefully and I needed to get in early so I didn't wake you. Your breakfast is in the microwave, just warm it up. I'll miss us eating together, but Cho and I must set up the sting against Wilcox. See you soon. Call if you need me. - Patrick._

* * *

Patrick sat with the rest of the team and Luther Wainwright around the big table at the edge of the bullpen.

_Why does Wainwright think he needs to be here? The team and I can handle this just fine without him. Cho's not Teresa but he's still a good team leader._

Patrick and Cho outlined their plan for getting evidence on Tom Wilcox.

"…so I called Wilcox an hour ago to set up a meeting in the park for this time tomorrow. I identified myself as Patrick Jane and stated that I was acting on behalf of Teresa Lisbon."

"Jane threatened to expose Wilcox unless they met to work out a deal - split the proceeds." Cho spoke up when he finished. "We want Wilcox to retrieve the money from the ATM robbery. That should give us enough evidence to put him away. Once he finishes his meeting with Jane, we'll put a tail on him. We can catch him when he makes his move for the money."

Patrick looked over at Wainwright, busy texting on his phone. Without looking up, he spoke.

"Why Jane? Why get him to do this?"

"Why not? I can handle it. With Lisbon out of commission…" Patrick spoke before Cho could answer.

"Is she out of commission? I mean, she came in yesterday to the building." Wainwright didn't raise his head from his texting while he spoke.

_Leave Teresa out of this, you ass!_

"But she's still not herself. Her memory hasn't returned."

Wainwright grunted. He looked Patrick in the eye.

"But you're not an agent."

"I've done this kind of thing before. I'll be okay."

"But did you sell Wilcox on the idea that Lisbon told you to do this?"

"He didn't believe me at first, but I convinced him."

"I'm skeptical. If I were Wilcox, I'd be suspicious."

"We can handle this, sir. Jane will be wired and the team will be on hand if any trouble comes up," said Cho.

Wainwright's phone dinged with an incoming message. When he heard it, he dropped his eyes to read what was on the screen. His body language changed in an instant; he started eying the elevator while he thumped his fingers on the desk.

_Wainwright's lost interest us. Good! Maybe he'll leave us to our work._

Raising his eyes first to Patrick then to Cho, Wainwright spoke.

"So you two are convinced of your plan?"

Both men nodded.

"In that case, go ahead. I leave it in your capable hands, Agent Cho."

Moving in a fast shuffle, Wainwright departed the bullpen. Four sighs erupted once he was out of earshot.

"I'll go over to the park to sketch out where we should position ourselves," said Rigsby.

"And I'll coordinate with the techies about getting us wired-up tomorrow," said Van Pelt.

"Good. Sounds like we've got a plan. Now we just need Jane to put on one of his best acting performances."

"You can go ahead and start polishing that Emmy for me, Cho. I'll be ready."

Out of the corner of his eye Patrick saw one of the rookie agents hurry into the bullpen area. Fear filled the young man's face.

_He's on Teresa's security detail. He's supposed to be on duty now. Something's wrong!_

"What is it, Agent?" Cho asked.

"It's Agent Lisbon, sir. She's gone."

* * *

Patrick stared at the series of text messages running between Cho, Rigsby, Van Pelt, and himself.

_Negative on hospital. _

_Nothing at the condo complex._

_Dr. Suchman hasn't seen her._

The bottom line? No one had turned up anything on Teresa.

As he stood amid the hustle and bustle of Marie's after another futile inquiry, Patrick closed his eyes to concentrate. Where else could she be? He thought back over the past few days then it hit him. Church. She had that long conversation with Father McIlwee at the hospital, and his visit had done a world of good for her spirits. After the emotional roller-coaster of coming home and going back to CBI, maybe she needed a bigger spiritual boost than merely fingering her crucifix. Elbowing his way through the crowd, Jane sprinted to his Blue Turtle and drove over to St. Michael's church.

When he entered the front door of St. Michael's, the only sounds he heard were from a pair of nuns exiting through a door beneath the choir loft. Moving along the aisle, Jane took a seat half-way down in an old, ornately-carved pew. Even with his concern, a stray thought made him smile.

_St. Michaels. The patron saint of police officers. What an appropriate name for Teresa's church!_

As he sat, Patrick became ever more convinced that Teresa would show up here. If all the other logical places turned up empty, this was all that was left. The alternative, that someone had abducted her, was too horrid to think about.

The quiet of the church began to soothe him. Away from the hustle and bustle outside, he let his mind drift. The stress he had been under the last few days had worn him down. Now he needed to focus on keeping his fear for Teresa from building further. He closed his eyes to soak in the solitude that surrounded him. Slowly he forced his mind to clear itself of all cares, all worries, all…

"Paaaaatrick Jaaaaane. What are yooooooou doing here?"

He jerked his head around to meet a familiar pair of emerald eyes complemented by a mischievous grin. For once, he couldn't smile back. Not yet anyway.

"What am I doing here? I'm sitting here worried sick about you, Teresa. That's what I'm doing here. You wouldn't answer my phone calls, my text messages. Shame on you!" He felt like he was scolding an errant teenager.

"I was alright, Patrick. I just wanted to get out of the apartment for a little while, run some errands, go to the bank. I also felt the need to come by here. I wanted to talk to Father McIlwee," She placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Talk, huh."

"Yes. I've had some…thoughts…lately that I didn't know quite how to deal with."

"Do you feel better now, Teresa?"

"I do. Father McIlwee and I went for a walk while I talked through some things. And when we got back here I looked across the pews and what should I see but the handsome head of hair of Patrick Jane. That was too good a chance to have some fun to let it pass by. So I crawled all the way down here on my hands and knees so you wouldn't see me." She waved her hand toward the far aisle. "It was worth it to see the surprise on your face."

"Ha, ha, very funny, Teresa. Good for you. You snuck up on me. Now maybe you should go find the confession booth. You have something new to talk about - getting your friends all concerned about your safety. I tried to reach you a dozen times. But not a word, not a reply. Nothing."

He noticed that the levity slowly drained from her face, replaced by a contrite look. The smile on her lips drooped into a pout.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you fret about me."

"It wasn't just me. It was Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt too. Your whole team. But yeah, it was especially me."

Teresa's smile reappeared.

"Why do you say you in particular?"

"Because I feel that I'm responsible for you. Since your attack our roles are reversed. You've always been the responsible one of the two of us, and now I have to be. It's hard after all these years. I care about you, Teresa."

The hand that rested on his shoulder began to rub his upper arm.

"I know you care and I appreciate that. Tell you what. Let me buy you dinner."

"Buy me dinner?"

"When I went by the bank, I found out I don't spend a lot of money. Kinda like you. Say that you'll let me treat you. Please?"

The hand on his arm tugged his jacket while she leaned over so that they looked at each other face-to-face. She batted her lashes at him.

_I should still be mad at her. But I can't be._

"I was at Marie's before I came here. It smelled good. They were just taking some bread out of the oven."

"Why don't we go there? That sounds yummy."

"You're paying?"

"Get anything you want. I've got it covered."

Patrick contacted the team to call off the search and set up for the agent _du jour_ to meet them at Marie's.

* * *

As they relaxed in their booth at Marie's after eating, Patrick looked out the window over to the shopping mall across the street. Hearing Teresa say that she had run some errands reminded him of something he hadn't done.

"Before we go home, let's go over to Bracey's department store in the mall." Patrick said.

"Will we still get home in time for our movie date?"

Patrick chuckled.

"We should have plenty of time, my dear."

"_Shall We Dance?_ is on tonight_._ It's the all-Gershwin musical. I'm looking forward to _us_ seeing it."

He noticed the emphasis she put on the word "us."

"I'm impressed that you looked it up."

"What can I say? You got me hooked that first night. I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be than watching Fred and Ginger with you. A darkened room, the flicker of a black-and-white movie on the TV screen, and us stretched out on the sofa."

_And I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be than with Teresa, whether the old version or the new one._

"I'll be quick. I just want to get a new shirt to replace that old gray one."

Teresa smiled in an odd way as she brought her eyes up to meet his.

"Let's go."

They walked across the street to Bracey's. Once in the men's department, Patrick rifled through the dress shirts in his size. Teresa busied herself looking as well.

"What color did you want to get?"

"White. That's the most versatile," he replied.

"Here you go, Patrick. This is what you need."

Teresa lifted a packaged shirt up for him to look at.

"It's nice. Really nice."

"The label says it's a wrinkle-free shirt. That would fit with your…ahm…lifestyle, wouldn't you say?"

_How is it she can make me laugh at the most mundane things?_

He took the shirt from her hands to look at it more closely.

"But it's a little more money than I normally spend nowadays."

In a sudden motion, Teresa snatched the shirt out of his hands.

"You're getting this shirt, but you're not paying for it. I'm buying it."

"But…"

"No 'buts' from you. It's the least I do to say 'thank you' for all you've done for me."

"But…"

She reached out to place her finger over his lips.

"What did I say?"

_Why do I feel this overpowering urge to kiss that finger?_

"You said 'no buts.' You win. Thank you, Teresa."

"Good. Now we're gonna get a couple more items too."

Teresa walked over to a table filled with ties. She ran her hand across several rows of them until she lifted up a bright red one. Walking back to him, she held the tie under his chin. She hummed in satisfaction.

"Perfect."

"But normally I don't wear a tie."

"You said 'but,' Patrick. What did I say?"

"You said no 'buts.'"

"Good. At least _your_ memory is working right!"

The mirth in her eyes made him chuckle.

"Thank you again, Teresa."

"I'm not saying that you should wear a tie every day, you just need one for special occasions and that one looks lovely on you. Speaking of something for special occasions…"

She looked down at his feet. He knew in an instant what she was thinking.

"These shoes feel good. I've spent years breaking them in. I get them resoled every year."

"Oh, Patrick, please. I'll bet you were wearing them the night you pulled me out of the lake."

"So? They're dry now. Mostly."

"I want to get you a pair of black shoes. Just like the tie. For special occasions."

Patrick held up his hands in resignation.

* * *

Once Teresa picked out a pair of black dress shoes for him, they hurried home for the movie.

"I forgot to wash my Chicago Bears jersey today. Oh well, I'll just improvise tonight."

_Why is she smiling like that?_

"See you in a few minutes, Patrick."

With that she disappeared into her bedroom. He went into his room to change into his pajamas and bathrobe.

Getting back to the living room before Teresa, Patrick switched the television to the old movie channel.

_Good. The movie's just about ready to start._

Hearing Teresa's footsteps coming down the hallway, he raised his eyes to a sight just as surprising as the time she showed up in a towel.

She was wearing his gray shirt with the frayed collar.

When she plopped down on the sofa next to him, Patrick reached over to finger its material. The gentle tinkle of Teresa's laugh, one that she saved only for her moments alone with him, reached his ears.

"YOU may have thought this was worn out, but it suits me just fine." Teresa had gotten that mischievous glint in her eye again.

* * *

Teresa felt bad when she realized the worry that she had caused Patrick and the others with her disappearance.

Especially Patrick.

She saw the pain in his eyes when they met up at church. At that point she realized something about the two of them. First he had felt guilt for the attack on her; now she felt guilt for her absence, an absence that had etched lines of worry across his face.

Despite his well-deserved reproof of her, the evening had turned into a beautiful one, one she treasured. Once home, she and Patrick reclined on the sofa, watching Fred and Ginger dance through another lovely story. Only by the end of the movie, she wasn't so much reclining on the sofa as she was leaning on his shoulder. In turn, his chin rested on top of her head.

"So which musical number did you like the most in tonight's movie?" Patrick asked as they stood up and stretched while the final credits rolled. "'They Can't Take That Away From Me'?"

"Oh, that was good, but if you listen closely there's a bit of sadness to it. My favorite was 'Let's Call the Whole Thing Off." So playful, so fun. And you can't beat Fred and Ginger on roller skates."

Patrick flashed that joyful glance that made her melt each time she saw it.

"You say EEEEEither and I say eIIIIIther."

His exaggeration of the words made her laugh.

"Tell me something. Did you and the old Lisbon disagree a lot?"

"We'd always talk like we were at odds, and sometimes we really were. But you and I connected on a deeper level, something the rest of world didn't see."

Teresa smiled. _Just like yesterday in the cafe with the sundae._

"We still do, Patrick."

* * *

The noise of footsteps in the hallway awakened Teresa. Looking at her clock beside the bed, she saw 4:30am. Again.

_Where is Patrick going at this hour?_

This time she wouldn't go back to sleep. Putting on a pair of sandals and a jacket, she slipped out of her room just as she heard the front door close behind him. Slowly she twisted the knob and swung open the door so as not to make any noise. Outside, she looked around until she spotted an overcoat-clad man moving in and out of the shadows cast by the street lamps. Still dark, just a hint of pinkness edged along the eastern horizon. Patrick had headed to the main part of the condo complex. Moving with as much stealth as she could muster, Teresa trailed along at a distance.

The clatter of a heavy door opening and closing sounded ahead of her. When she got to the place where she heard the noise, she found the entrance to the fitness complex. Patrick had been right about her lock-picking skills! It seemed second nature to her, and in a moment she was inside. Darkness shrouded the hallway except for the bright red exit signs. Pulling out her phone, she used it to illuminate the floor in front of her as she tip-toed along.

On either side of the hallway were workout rooms. Some had weight machines, others had ellipticals and tread mills. As she passed by the pathway that led to the swimming pool, shards of light from the street lamps reflected off the water and flitted across the walls.

_Wait a minute. The water should be calm, not moving._

Teresa walked toward the pool until a sight stopped her in her tracks. She gasped. Alone in the pool, there was her moonlight man. He was swimming the backstroke in one of the lanes. Moving from one end of the pool to the other, his steady, powerful strokes propelled him through the water. The sight transfixed Teresa as she moved closer. Without thinking she pressed her fingers across her mouth in wonder.

When he came again to the near end of the pool he stopped, lifted himself out with his arms, and ran his hand through his hair. The sight of Patrick had so engrossed her that Teresa forgot to stay in the shadows. Now he walked over to her, water cascading down the muscles of his chest and arms and dripping from his Speedos onto the pool deck. Standing in a circle of light cast by one of the street lamps, he placed his hands on his hips.

"Something on your mind, Teresa?"

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Author's notes:

George and Ira Gershwin wrote "'S Wonderful" in 1927, and the song has since become a jazz standard recorded by many artists. May I suggest two favorites? Ella Fitzgerald recorded "'S Wonderful" on her album _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the George and Ira Gershwin Songbook_, and Diana Krall included the song on her album _The Look Of Love_. The Gershwins also wrote "They Can't Take That Away From Me" and "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off" in 1937. For "They Can't Take That Away From Me," I suggest Frank Sinatra's version on his album _Classic Sinatra_. For "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off," I suggest Ella's version on her album _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the George and Ira Gershwin Songbook._

Composed by Irving Berlin in 1936, "Let's Face the Music and Dance" is the title of a later chapter in this story. One of my two favorite versions is by Diana Krall for her album _When I Look In Your Eyes_.

Thank you for reading, following, and reviewing the story.


	13. Fly Me To The Moon

Author's notes:

Thank you to the great writer, critique partner, and beta reader Sue Shay! As I've mentioned before, I would not have pursued this project without her encouragement and support. Check out Sue's stories including her current project, "Ready or Not." As for the latest developments in that story, I've got two words: _baseball cards_!

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Warning: This chapter contains adult language and dialogue.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 13: Fly Me To The Moon

* * *

Teresa stared at Patrick in his Speedos. Under the lamp light, the water clinging to him looked like a sheen of sweat, the kind someone would get from hours and hours of wild…

_Stop it! Don't think about that. Okay, must…not…stare. Don't look there. Look there. No, that doesn't work either. Okay, look there. No! Especially not there. He's watching me look at him. Look at the puddle beneath him. Ah, yes, look at the puddle. That's stupid. Get a grip, Teresa. Look up at his face. Okay, I'm raising my eyes to his face. No, don't…stop…there. Or there. Yes, there's his face. The lamp light makes it look like there's a halo around his head. Aww, the curls in his hair are dripping. The droplets are running down his shoulders onto his chest. He looks so adorable I just want to… Stop it!_

"Something on your mind, Teresa?" Patrick repeated himself. Teresa heard his voice and decided to focus on his mouth.

_Focus on his mouth. Yes. On his lips. Those lips that would feel so good to have…Stop it, stop it, stop it! Get control of yourself. He's looking at me like he's worried._

"Ahm."

_Okay, that's a start. At least I made a sound._

Now Patrick's face softened. He raised his hand. Teresa watched as if it were slow motion as he reached across to touch her elbow. Her breath caught.

_His…hand…is…on…my…elbow. His…hand…is…on…my…elbow. His…hand…is…on…my…elbow. _

"Something on your mind?"

_That's the third time he's asked me the same thing. I must say something. Think of something to say… Something to say… Think of something…_

"Breaking and entering."

"What?" he asked. He dropped his hand from her arm.

_What? From what part of my brain did that come from? Well, I gotta go with it since I spoke it._

"I said 'breaking and entering,' Patrick."

"Breaking and entering. That's what's on your mind?"

_Why is he smiling like that? Now he's making me mad. And flustered. I want to reach over to grab him and… Stop it!_

Teresa sucked in a big gulp of air.

"Yes. Breaking and entering. You're obviously not a member here. You entered the premises outside of regular business hours. You're trespassing."

"Said the pot to the kettle."

She exhaled and let her shoulders slump.

"Alright, I was curious about where you went at 4:30 in the morning." She held her hand up to get him to wipe off the smirk that had formed across his face. "And yes, I used those lock-picking skills of mine to get in. So now I know the sordid secret of Patrick Jane. He likes to swim in the middle of the night."

"It's good exercise. I've always enjoyed it. When I first came over here, I saw that this fitness center had a pool. As a temporary resident, I thought I'd avail myself of the facilities."

"At 4:30am?"

"What can I say? I avoid the crowds at an off-peak hour like this. So, are you gonna arrest me, Agent Lisbon?"

"No, but I'm putting you under surveillance."

"Under surveillance?" Now his eyes were crinkling as he spoke.

_He's enjoying this far too much._

"Yes, under surveillance. I'll just sit down over here on this lounge chair. Continue swimming laps, _Mr. Jane_." She waved with the back of her hand for him to enter the pool again as she stretched out on the lounge chair.

"'Mr. Jane' huh? You make me sound so criminal."

"Get back in the pool before I change my mind."

Patrick plopped back in. With a languid motion he assumed a position on his back again as his arms reached behind him in powerful strokes. His chest jutted up above the water while his legs fluttered in continuous rhythm. Teresa kept her eyes riveted on him as he made his way down to the far end, reversed course, and swam back to her end. When he finished that lap, he raised his head above the water to speak to her.

"You can join me if you want."

Teresa laughed.

"But I don't have my bathing suit with me."

"You don't have to have one. It's clothing-optional at this hour, don't you think? Certainly I won't tell anyone."

_I wonder if he can tell how deeply I must be blushing._

"Patrick!"

"If it would make you feel more comfortable, I can take off my swim trunks."

_I'm glad I'm sitting down. I feel so light-headed._

She raised her cell phone as if to sling it at him. After making an exaggerated ducking motion, he resumed swimming.

* * *

As they walked back to the condo in silence, the street lamps were dimming as the sky lightened. Teresa would steal a look at her companion, and more likely than not she caught Patrick looking her way as well. His hair was mostly dry, but some of it matted against his head in a boyish way. He looked happy, and that made her happy as well.

She had raised her eyes to look at him again when something got her attention. The two of them were passing by an outdoor staircase, and she pulled Patrick under it into the shadows with her. His eye brows knotted in confusion.

"What's wrong, Teresa?"

"I just saw a car pass by."

"And…"

"And I think I saw Luther Wainwright driving it."

"Wait a minute. Did you alert the agent _du jour_ on watch that you were following me to the fitness center?"

"No. It's easy to give them the slip. I found that out yesterday."

"Did Wainwright call your cell phone?"

Teresa checked.

"No."

Patrick pulled out his own phone from his overcoat.

"He didn't call me either. Wainwright was upset with the agent who let you slip away the other day. I guess he came to give today's agent a surprise inspection."

"I feel sorry for the guy then."

"Well, the more time Wainwright spends with the security detail, the less time he spends with us and your team. That's a good thing."

Patrick motioned for Teresa to follow him out of the shadows and they resumed their walk back to the condo.

* * *

After a breakfast of bacon and eggs, Teresa accompanied Patrick to work at the CBI building. Human Resources had called her the day before about signing some paperwork for her medical leave. Once there, the two split apart with a promise to get together mid-morning for a coffee-and-tea break.

She finished the paperwork in H.R. faster than expected. With time on her hands, she wandered back to her team's bullpen area. What she saw through the open door of a nearby conference room surprised her. Seated around a table were Patrick, her Three Musketeers, and Luther Wainwright. A voice from a speakerphone in the middle of the table had captured the attention of all five of them.

"_Mr. Jane, I've been thinking about your call to me. I'm not sure I want to meet with you today. I don't think you're representing Teresa Lisbon at all. I think you're just trying to trap an innocent man so you can get an arrest in a case. And even if I were hypothetically the person who did all the things you claim I did, why should I come meet you?"_

Teresa knew at once that Tom Wilcox was the caller. Patrick hit the mute button on the phone so Wilcox couldn't hear anything from the CBI end.

"Jane, Cho, I told you your plan was problematic." Wainwright glared at the two men while he spoke.

"Just have patience. Let me work through this," Patrick replied.

"I can hear the suspicion in Wilcox' voice. You can't deny you don't hear it as well. This whole case is gonna blow up."

Teresa's blood boiled at what she heard.

_Enough of this! Even if I don't remember anything, I won't have Wainwright question the ability of my team and my Patrick. They don't deserve that._

Teresa stomped through the door into the room, glared at Wainwright, and slapped the button to un-mute the speaker phone. The five people around the table were too stunned to move.

"Tom Wilcox, this is Teresa Lisbon. We've met before under different circumstances."

"We have?"

_This guy may be a first-time criminal, but he's still cagey._

"You and I both know that, but I won't dwell on that right now. What I will dwell on is your meeting with Patrick Jane this afternoon. He's working on my behalf."

"Why should I meet with him?"

"Because it's in your best interests, and I don't think you're stupid. I told Jane to set up the meeting."

"Okay, I'll come to the downtown park this afternoon."

"Good."

Teresa scanned the people at the table, and she saw nods of approval. Van Pelt even gave her the thumbs up sign.

"But one condition. I want you to meet with me."

All of the nods around the table turned to vigorous head shakes of "no" in an instant. Teresa slapped the mute button again to talk to the five at the table.

"I can do this." Again she hit the mute button to speak to Wilcox. "I'll be there, but the price of cooperation has gone up. You'll find me a tougher negotiator than Jane. See ya then."

She hit the call-end button and a dial tone sounded.

The stupor over the five people around the table lingered a few moments until Patrick stood up and marched around the table to stand in front of Teresa. His face reddened.

"Absolutely not." He fisted his hands as he placed them on his hips. "You will not get involved in this gag. I mean sting."

"Things didn't seem to be going well for you until I spoke up." Teresa matched Patrick's fists-on-hips gesture as the two of them glared at each other.

"I was in the process of working it out. Wilcox would have eventually come around."

"Eventually, huh. When? Next week? Next month? The way I see it I salvaged your _gag_. You should be thanking me."

"I forbid you to go to that meeting this afternoon." Patrick leaned over slightly to get right in Teresa's face.

"I got news for you. It's out of your hands. I invited myself to your little soiree."

"No. You have no business being there. Not in your condition."

"Condition?"

"Yes. Your mental faculties aren't working right now."

Teresa heard a gasp in unison from Van Pelt and Rigsby. Rigsby spoke up.

"Ahhhh, Jane, did you really want to say that?"

Patrick turned his attention to Rigsby.

"You stay out of this, Rigsby." He turned back to glare at Teresa again. "I forbid you from putting yourself at risk. I won't allow it. The meeting with Wilcox calls for quick thinking, someone at the top of his game. Someone who can project a sense of power, who can intimidate. My dear, you need to steer clear of something like that while you're in this condition."

_Why is it I want to punch him in the face then kiss him to make it feel better?_

As she felt the steam rise inside her, she saw Van Pelt tug Patrick's coat.

"Jane, you're really digging a deep one with the Boss right now. You do know you're losing, don't you?"

"Am I the only _sane_ person here right now? Teresa cannot participate in this sting."

"Yes, she can." The voice of Luther Wainwright got everybody's attention. "Agent Lisbon, are you convinced you can pull off a meeting with Tom Wilcox this afternoon? Do you think you have enough savvy to do this right now?"

"I can, sir. No matter what Patrick Jane thinks."

Wainwright looked at the two of them before speaking again.

"Very good. Agent Lisbon, you and Jane go ahead. The two of you plan to meet Wilcox…together. I leave the overall operation in Agent Cho's capable hands. Call me if you need me." Wainwright stood up, smiled at the group, and skedaddled to the elevator.

The Three Musketeers had all directed their attention to Wainwright while Teresa and Patrick still glowered at each other. Teresa took the private moment between the two of them to stick out her tongue at Patrick.

* * *

Teresa and Patrick sat in a wordless funk during their coffee-and-tea break and later during lunch. The tension in the air between them upset her but she was not about to give in. She _knew_ that she could handle this "gag" as Patrick called it. She was less sure she could handle the stony silence between the two of them.

When they returned from lunch, the team began the whirlwind of preparations. Van Pelt took charge of Teresa and brought her over to the three CBI personnel from the technology department, the techies as she called them. The techies, Gladys, Herb, and Conrad their supervisor, wired Teresa up. After testing her setup, Conrad pronounced her ready-to-go.

Teresa noticed the Three Musketeers get ready as well. After wiring, Van Pelt changed into the uniform of a delivery service. Rigsby appeared from a dressing room wearing a San Francisco 49ers T-shirt and jeans. Cho was the only one who didn't put on a disguise, but she saw him assemble a high-powered rifle. As she watched, his last step was to adjust the scope. His actions convinced her that he knew all about sniping. If he had Wilcox in his sights the whole time of the meeting, she felt safer already.

The last team member to get ready was Patrick. Herb and Gladys started to joke with Patrick like that was what they normally did. Teresa could tell the two techies felt comfortable around him and expected him to act the same way with them.

Not today. Herb cracked a joke about fake blood but Patrick scowled at him. Herb and Gladys glanced at each other and fell silent. Patrick acted like a robot, raising his arms when told to and lifting his collar as directed.

When everyone was ready, the Three Musketeers, the three techies, Patrick, and Teresa all went over to the park.

"_We need a sound check, Agent Lisbon. Could you speak a few words to us?"_

The disembodied voice startled Teresa, but she realized it was Herb the techie checking out her system.

"Yes. Do you hear me alright?"

"_Affirmative. Thank you._"

Teresa then heard Herb go around to check out the Three Musketeers and lastly Patrick. When he asked for a sound check, Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt all responded in a crisp manner. Patrick was another story.

"_Are you there, Mr. Jane?_"

"Yes."

"_Could you say more than one word, Mr. Jane? It will help get a reading._"

"No."

Teresa couldn't believe he was behaving in so childish a manner.

"Sheep dip!" she said out loud.

"_Wow, Agent Lisbon. That was loud enough we'll have to recalibrate our settings for you_," Gladys said.

"You do that. But first I want this horse's ass standing beside me to say more than one word for you."

Patrick glared at her again, and she answered in kind. His nostrils flared as he shook his finger at her.

"You have recklessly endangered yourself, Teresa. You inserted yourself where you don't belong. I don't care what you or Wainwright think, you have no business being here right now."

"Herb, did he say enough for your sound check?" Teresa asked.

"_Affirmative, Agent Lisbon. Thank you very much for getting the horse's ass to speak up for us._"

The wireless transmitter immediately filled up with laughter from everyone else except Patrick.

"_Knock it off everyone. I just sighted Wilcox. He's parking his car at the north end of the park."_ Cho's stern voice made all the others fall silent. "_Rigsby, do you see him?_"

"_I spotted him, Cho. He's walking in beside the soccer field."_

"_Okay. Van Pelt, are you in position?"_

"_Affirmative, Cho."_

"_Good. Now it's time for Lisbon and the horse's ass to move over to the park bench."_

Teresa heard a series of titters erupt across the ether.

"_Agent Cho, he and I are moving now."_ She tapped Patrick's arm and they commenced walking to the meeting spot.

"I still think you needed to stay out of this," said Patrick.

"And I'm glad I'm along."

"I hope you and I both get out of this alive, Lisbon."

"_Lisbon_, huh. So now I'm your boss again, _Jane_?"

"It sure seems that way, whether you've got your memory or not."

"Good. I like having a little control over you, although I kinda liked hearing you call me 'Teresa'."

"Well, since we're getting some things out in the open, I've enjoyed calling you 'Teresa,' and I liked it when you called me 'Patrick.'"

"I like saying 'Patrick.' I'll bet no one calls you by your first name very much."

"No one much since Angela."

"Well I feel honored to be in that company."

"_Okay, Wilcox is coming your way now. Remember, if he pulls a gun you both drop to the ground."_

"You heard Cho say that, didn't you? Wilcox may be armed. If he tried to kill you before, he won't hesitate to do so again if he thinks he can get away with it."

Teresa decided to ignore that last remark from Patrick. A different subject was on her mind.

"Listen, on the off chance that this works out, if we actually survive this little shindig, I want to celebrate," she said.

"This is hardly the time to be thinking about a celebration."

"Patrick, I want you to promise me something."

"Anything, if you'll just concentrate on Wilcox right now."

"Okay. If we get out of this alive…"

"And that's about the best outcome that I can think of right now by the way."

"Hush. If we get out of this alive, I want you to take me out dancing tomorrow night. Will you, Patrick?"

"You what?"

"_She what?"_

"Shut up, Rigsby, you're confusing things here."

"_I think that's sweet. You should do what she's asking, Paaaaaatriiiiiick."_

"You shut up too, Van Pelt."

"You know, all these voices in my head are confusing me so much, I just might make a wrong move. What would help poor little old me is if the rest of you would hush so he can answer my question. So, Patrick, will you take me out dancing tomorrow night? May I remind you that Wilcox is almost here."

"Yes, yes, yes. I, Patrick Jane, will take you, Teresa Lisbon, dancing tomorrow night if we survive this meeting. Now can you concentrate on the task at hand?"

"_Ah, that's sweet."_

"Shut up, Van Pelt."

"Don't talk to her like that. That's not all. I want you to do three things for our date."

"I can see Wilcox beside the playground. He's almost here."

"That means we don't have a lot of time so listen to me. For our date I want you to run the Blue Turtle through a car wash, put on that red tie, and wear your new black shoes. So, will you do all those things?"

Patrick and Teresa stared at each other as a message, unspoken yet ice-breaking, passed between them. At the same instant they smiled at each other.

"Blue Turtle, red tie, black shoes. I got it." He reached over to pat her on the shoulder.

"Good. Let's go. Follow my lead."

"What?" Now Patrick got a mystified look on his face.

"I may not have my memory, but I've got a hunch about how to handle this guy. It's not 100% certain, so the team needs to be ready to jump in if things go wrong. Are you guys ready?"

Three "affirmatives" sounded across the ether.

As Wilcox neared them his eyes flitted from one place to another. Teresa saw patches of sweat staining his underarms, and he mopped his brow with a hankie.

_This guy is really nervous. That could be good or bad or both._

Once he came up to the two of them, he stared at Patrick. For his part, Patrick didn't flinch. He maintained a confident gaze, gently rocking back and forth on his feet.

"Patrick Jane, I presume?"

"Indeed, sir."

Wilcox looked over at Teresa.

"I thought it was just you and me meeting, Agent Lisbon. I thought I had dispensed with your flunky."

Teresa decided to adopt the confident, slightly arrogant stance of her partner.

"Jane? You mean _Stud Service_ here. Nope. We're a team, a package deal."

"Is that so?" Wilcox' tone took on menace, and Patrick's eyes signaled Teresa to note the gun-shaped bulge in his side pocket.

_In for a penny, in for a pound. I gotta keep this up._

"Yeah, it's so. But we're not here to talk about us, we're here to talk about you. My team's been investigating your finances lately. Your bank account over the last year looks like it's got a bad case of ED."

Teresa noted Patrick's shocked expression.

"Yeah, so what? A lot of people are in a pinch right now. I'm no different than other people in this economy."

"Maybe. But if that bank account or any new one suddenly looks like it's had a _res-erection_, then I'll have CBI agents descend on you like piranha on a water buffalo."

"So, what do you want?"

"Stud and I have had a lot of stress lately. Isn't that right?" She punched Patrick in the ribs.

"Uh, yeah. A lot of stress. Getting more stressful right now."

"Don't you worry yourself. I'll take you for ice cream after we finish meeting with this nice man." Teresa turned back to face Wilcox.

"Not my problem, Lisbon."

"Good point, but here's your problem: you don't want to have CBI nosing around in your life. Agents might uncover something you don't want known."

"Let's say that was the case. Hypothetically speaking, what would you want to keep silent?"

Teresa and Patrick exchanged looks.

"Stud here told me he asked for 25%."

"Dream on."

"Oh, I have been dreaming. See, Stud and I had been planning to get away. He promised me that he was gonna fly me to the moon, but that ain't gonna happen in Sacramento. When we pieced together your story, I started thinking Stud could fly me to the moon via Barbados. I did some back-of-the-envelope calculations and guess what? Half of the take from that ATM robbery will do nicely."

"Half? Just so you and your boy-toy can go off and screw under a palm tree?"

"Are we going to do that in Barbados?" Patrick asked in his most naive-sounding tone.

Teresa patted his cheek.

"What do I tell you to do in important meetings, Stud?"

"To stay quiet?"

"Good boy!" Teresa turned again to Wilcox. "Stud is a good man if you know what I mean. A really good man. But he's got shit for brains."

Teresa could tell she'd struck a nerve with Wilcox. His face had reddened.

"If I did what you say I did I wouldn't give you half the money. The whole reason I_ might_ have done that is because my family was losing our home and going into bankruptcy. I would have had a real reason, not so some bitch could take her man-whore where it's warmer."

That got a rise from Patrick.

"Wilcox, you can say what you want about me, but you will not call Agent Lisbon a…"

Teresa grabbed his arm and shook it.

"Hold on. I got this," she said as she pivoted to face Wilcox. "You're one to talk about being holier-than-thou. You shot a man dead, slit the throat of the man who saved your worthless life, and tried to give me a burial at sea. You're gonna give us half for two reasons. First, getting half is better than getting nothing. Second is because of this." Teresa fingered the ID card on Patrick's coat lapel. "Do you see what that says, Mr. Wilcox?"

"Yeah, it's _'Stud's'_ CBI badge," said Wilcox with a smirk.

"Look closer. That's no badge, that's just an ID. See that lettering printed across the top? It spells out 'consultant' - C-O-N-S-U-L-T-A-N-T. Stud _used_ to work full-time for CBI. Had a badge and everything. Now he's just a consultant. You can walk over there to the CBI Building and ask at the front desk. They'll tell you that Mr. Patrick Jane is employed only as a consultant at present."

"So?"

"When he had the badge, Stud tended to get a little too involved in his work. One day we brought a guy in and - long story short - Stud got hold of him and, well, the guy can't walk anymore. No one cared much about the man himself, the guy was a wife-beater so he wasn't gonna get any sympathy. Still, the brass at CBI got all antsy about bad publicity so they cashiered Stud. But I at least negotiated the Consultant gig for him. That way I keep an eye on him too. When I don't need him for a case - or for his other services - he sleeps on the couch in my area. Ask anyone on the 3rd floor at the CBI Building, they'll tell you where I keep him."

"I'm not buying any of this, Lisbon. Tell you what. Hypothetically speaking, if I were the one who did those things you claim I did, I'd cut you in for 10%. No more."

"Mr. Wilcox, you need to know three things about me. One is I figure out all the angles ahead of time including how much my silence is worth. The second is I don't let some white-bread from the suburbs with an underwater mortgage who's in over his head control a situation. That's where Stud here comes in handy. He's what I call leverage."

_Why are __**both**__ Patrick and Wilcox looking at me funny like that?_

"What's the third thing, Lisbon?" asked Wilcox.

_Oops. Gotta think of something else, but what?_

"The third thing is…no one gives _this_ bitch any crap-filled crackers."

"So you're saying 10% is crap-filled crackers?"

"Yep." Teresa noticed Wilcox' hand moving in the vicinity of the bulge in his pocket. "And don't think you can try anything here and get away with it. I hire a professional on occasion to help Stud and me out. Got him here in a discreet location in the park. Him and his rifle. If he sees anything go wrong, well, let's say he corrects the situation. Whatever you did to me would be the last thing you ever did."

"I don't believe you."

Teresa shrugged her shoulders.

_I hope Cho listens closely._

"Need a demonstration then? Okay. My ex-military sniper and I have worked out hand signals as well. If I hold up two fingers like this - my index finger and my middle finger - the sniper paints you with his red laser. Just like on the TV shows. Oh, look! There's that little red dot on your chest."

Wilcox looked down as the red dot from Cho's rifle danced across his shirt. With a gasp he moved his hand away from his pocket.

"Good, good, good, Mr. Wilcox. You made a smart move. You don't want to see what happens if I lower my index finger and it's only my middle finger still in the air."

"Tell your man to turn off his laser."

"I will, for 50%. So, what will it be?"

"Alright, 50%. But you've gotta give me time to get it."

"I give you 48 hours. If you don't cough up the money by then, I'll arrest you. And just by coincidence you'll spend some quality time alone with Jane here. He's a real artist at what he does."

Patrick flashed a wicked grin as he cracked his knuckles.

"Alright, call off Stud and call off your sniper. I'll meet you here again in two days."

Wilcox gave a final frightened look at Teresa and Patrick before he half-walked, half-sprinted back the way he came. As soon as he disappeared around a corner, Patrick let out a big sigh.

"_Wilcox is back in his car, he's started it, now he's pulling out into traffic. SacPD is putting a tail on him," _said Rigsby.

"Good. Thank you, everyone," said Teresa.

_Even if I don't have my memory, it sure feels right leading these people._

"_You handled that great, Boss!"_

"Thank you, Van Pelt." Teresa looked around to see Patrick smiling at her. Behind him at a distance she could see the Three Musketeers waiting for them. Before she joined the team, she reached over to grip the lapel on Patrick's suit. "Remember about tomorrow night. Blue Turtle, red tie, black shoes."

She released the lapel, pivoted, and marched toward the team - her team - in triumph.

As she walked, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed a familiar number.

"_Hello."_

"Hey, Sunshine. It's Teresa."

In the background she heard a man's voice call out to Sunshine.

"_Whoever's on the line, get rid of them and get your sweet ass back over here._

"_But it's Teresa Lisbon, honey. She's my friend."_

"_I don't care if it's the President of the United States. Get rid of her."_

Hearing that exchange between Sunshine and her boyfriend conjured up all sorts of similar ideas for Teresa. She smiled when she thought about her own plans.

"Sunshine, I won't keep you. I just want to know if you can go shopping with me tomorrow morning. I need to get something special for a date tomorrow night."

Teresa heard a squeal on the other end of the line.

"_Absolutely, but I gotta go now. See you about 9am."_

_Click._

* * *

Patrick stood in awe. The last fifteen minutes had transformed everything about the case. More than that, the last fifteen minutes had changed his and Teresa's relationship. He remained frozen in place, looking at the team greet Teresa with handshakes and hugs. He was only vaguely aware of people moving around him. Herb and Gladys, the techies, had arrived to remove the equipment from his body.

"Mr. Jane, I just want to thank you," said Herb as he untangled a thin wire that had caught in his suit lining.

"For what?"

"I've been working this job for twelve years and seen plenty of operations. Most of the time it's hours of boredom, but I've never enjoyed hearing one as much as yours today."

Gladys was on the other side of Patrick removing a transmitter from his belt.

"Mr. Jane," she said, "I got advice for you about your date with Agent Lisbon tomorrow night."

"What's that, Gladys?"

"Get her some flowers. But whatever you do, don't bring her any crap-filled crackers."

The two techies dissolved into laughter.

Conrad, the head techie, came over to stand beside Patrick. The two men both looked at Teresa surrounded by the team as they made their way back to the CBI building.

"Mr. Jane, she's crazy."

Patrick never took his eyes off Teresa. He shook his head no.

"You're wrong. She's magnificent."

* * *

Teresa sensed the change in the air when they got home. She could feel the electricity spark between her and Patrick as they moved around each other. The "accidental" bumps became frequent, the casual touches lingered, and the glances between them held longer.

"So what's the movie tonight, Patrick?" She sat down beside him on the sofa, his old gray shirt fitting loosely around her body.

"My favorite one of all, _Top Hat_." He reached his arm around Teresa to grasp a section of the shirt sleeve. "You know, this shirt looks better on you than it ever did on me."

She noticed that he left his arm around her. More than that, he pulled her to him until her head rested on his chest under the crook of his chin. They stayed that way during the whole movie.

At the end when they rose and stretched, she saw an expectant look on his face.

"What? You look like you want me to say something," she asked.

"Any favorites tonight?"

"I liked 'No Strings,' but my absolute favorite number was 'Cheek To Cheek.' Such elegance, such grace. And that gown Ginger wore in the scene was beautiful."

"Interesting story about that gown. The feathers on it kept coming off during filming to point that Fred got irritated."

"It's hard to picture Fred Astaire getting upset about anything."

"Well he did but he got over it, and he and Ginger patched things up between them. As a matter of fact he nicknamed Ginger 'Feathers' after that."

"So I shouldn't wear a dress with feathers on it when we go dancing tomorrow night, I guess."

"It would probably be for the best, _Feather-less._"

* * *

Patrick woke from his light sleep to see 4:25am on the clock beside his bed. Moving quickly, he got ready for his daily swim then slipped into the hallway. He didn't hear a sound in the whole condo other than his feet shuffling along. He stopped beside Teresa's door but heard nothing.

_She must be asleep. I wish she were going over to "keep me under surveillance" as she said. I liked seeing her stretched out on the lounge chair._

With a sigh of regret, he slipped out the front door to make his way over to the fitness center.

Once there, he sensed something was different. As he moved in and out of the shadows, he saw the water of the pool lap up and down against its edges. The movement of the water brought back unpleasant memories of the lake on the night he found Teresa.

Moving into the pool area, he stopped dead in his tracks. Looking across the pool he saw Teresa face-up in the water. A spike of fear bolted through his heart, but then he noticed that her body was moving. She was doing the backstroke, dressed in a one-piece bathing suit.

He walked over to the edge nearest her as she touched the wall. Stopping, she rested her arms on the side of the pool as she raised her eyes to meet his.

"It's 4:35. What took you so long, Patrick?"

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Author's notes:

Bart Howard wrote "Fly Me To The Moon" (aka "In Other Words") in 1954. My favorite version is an electrifying one by Julie London on her album _The End Of The World_. The vocal, piano, strings, and arrangement speed along lighter than air, much like Teresa and Patrick's relationship. It's a two-and-a-half minute thrill ride.

Irving Berlin wrote both "No Strings (I'm Fancy Free)" and the better-known "Cheek To Cheek" in 1935. My favorites for these two songs include the versions that Ella Fitzgerald recorded on her album _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Irving Berlin Songbook_.


	14. I Only Have Eyes For You

Author's notes:

Thank you to the great writer Sue Shay for all her help on this chapter and the overall story! I first discussed "I Remember You" and its broad outline with Sue in May 2013, and she has encouraged and supported the project at each step along the way.

One of my favorite aspects of Sue's writing is how she captures warm, intimate dialogue between Jane and Lisbon. A prime example of that is her current story, "Ready or Not." Check it out!

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 14: I Only Have Eyes For You

* * *

Teresa Lisbon had surprised Patrick Jane; she knew that. He was tongue-tied and couldn't speak. With her arms resting on the edge of the pool, she lifted her gaze to meet his. Soon enough he broke into a grin, removed his overcoat, and slipped into the pool next to her.

"Fancy meeting you here, Teresa."

"Something about getting the day started with a nice swim. It's invigorating."

"I agree. I didn't know you swam."

Her smile answered his own.

"There's a lot that neither you nor I know about me. When I got in the pool, it seemed second nature to move into the backstroke. Watch me."

With her arms reaching behind her and feet kicking in a steady flutter, she moved with speed down her lane and back. Once she finished the circuit, she raised out of the water to find Patrick with his arms crossed, admiring her.

"You're great! You must have learned that at an early age."

"Said the pot to the kettle." Her turning the phrase around on him this morning made both of them laugh.

"Let's get started, shall we?"

Teresa nodded and they cast off from the wall of the pool.

The longer they swam, the more their motions became the same. She looked at him, he looked at her, and they fell into pacing themselves by the others' speed. When she started swimming beside Patrick, Teresa had concentrated on matching him stroke for stroke. After a while though she forgot about her conscious effort. They simply moved together. After several laps, they took a break at the same time to stand in the water.

"We're in sync, Patrick."

He brushed the wet hair off her face, and his eyes met hers with a warmth that made her weak.

"We've been in sync a long time, Teresa."

* * *

Once they returned to the condo, Patrick turned towards the kitchen. Teresa stilled his motion by grabbing his arm.

"You get ready for work. I don't have to go in today. Let me make breakfast this morning."

With a slap on the backside she sent him off to the shower. Soon she heard the pipes singing at a high pitch as hot water surged through the system.

As she started the bacon and eggs, her thoughts drifted to their date. Standing over the stove with a spatula in one hand and a pan in the other, questions flitted through her mind. Where was Patrick going to take her? What kind of music would there be? How would the night end? She tingled with anticipation.

A movement from behind her broke her thoughts. Two arms stretched around her own, and two hands grasped hers to guide the spatula and pan. She looked down to see those arms encased in a freshly laundered, _wrinkle-free,_ white shirt. A clean-shaven cheek brushed against hers, and she inhaled the scent of a citrus-and-jasmine aftershave.

_Oh, does he really have to go into work today? He should stay home with me. We can watch the old movie channel together. After that we can think of something else to do._

"My dear, let me show you the proper way to stir scrambled eggs. It takes a certain motion to get things just right." Still holding onto her hands, he guided them while the eggs slid back and forth, taking on a firmness as they cooked.

She twisted her head slightly. Their mouths were millimeters apart.

"And you're the expert, Patrick?"

"I am, Teresa. I'm an expert about many things. And a willing student on others."

"I'll bet you are." She sighed and let her body relax back into his embrace. Catching a whiff of peppermint mouthwash on his breath, she wondered what his lips would taste like.

Teresa could have stayed like that all morning. Well, at least until that pesky tea kettle boiled over and the charred bacon started smoking.

* * *

Patrick fiddled with a paper clip as he lay on his couch in the bullpen. He wished he hadn't even come in to the office today, but he and Cho wanted to further their groundwork for the inevitable arrest of Tom Wilcox. It had been some of his finest work at CBI. What had motivated the passion with which he had attacked the case? The answer was clear: Wilcox had come after someone dear to him.

_Bastard. You hurt my Teresa so I'll get you._

"_My Teresa_." The last few days had changed everything about their relationship. Angela had been the only woman who ever interested him, the only woman who had ever penetrated the wall he had built to keep the world at bay. Now there was a second.

If he were honest with himself, this was not a new development. He had suppressed his feelings for Teresa Lisbon a long time, shunted them off to a corner of his mind. Now those feelings had surfaced, what they both knew but never acknowledged.

_Enough of this introspection. I've got to get ready for a date!_

He headed down to the CBI locker room for a shower and to get dressed. From there he needed to run the Blue Turtle through the car wash…and make one more special stop on the way home.

* * *

Carrying a vase of flowers, Patrick opened the door to the condo. A voice from down the hallway greeted him.

"Hi, I'm almost ready. Have a seat."

As he sat on the sofa, his hands moved constantly - he tugged his sleeves, tightened the Windsor knot on his tie, and picked stray pieces of lint off his suit. Patrick snorted to himself when he realized that he was behaving the same way he did when he was courting Angela long ago.

"Hey there, Patrick."

When he raised his gaze, he gasped. The vision he beheld took his breath away. He felt his arms droop to his side in a stupor as he drank in the sight.

Teresa stood before him in a black evening dress, its lines hugging the curves of her body. The dress culminated at the top in a tight, strapless circle that showed the right amount of cleavage to drive a man wild, this one in particular. Along with that, her bare shoulders beckoned his eyes as freshly-shaped curls of hair swished back and forth across them. Those curls framed a face that would never need make-up to look beautiful - a face with the allure of her full, rich lips, the flash of her emerald eyes, the dimpling of her cheeks as she smiled at him.

"Do you like?" She spun around.

"Do I like? You look as if Venus herself came to walk among mortal men. Of course, Venus wouldn't stay for long when she saw the competition you gave her. She'd hang her head in shame and go home. You enchant me the way no mere goddess ever could."

"So you don't mind being seen out in public with me then?"

_She's toying with me but I don't care._

"What I mind are all the men I'll have to fend off to keep you to myself. I apologize in advance, I'm selfish. Tonight I plan to keep you all to myself, Teresa." He stood and picked up the vase of a dozen roses he had set on the coffee table. "I brought these for you. Gladys the techie recommended I get them. It has to be good advice because she told me she gave the same advice to her grandson for his prom date."

"These are lovely, Patrick." Teresa inhaled the fragrance of the flowers before she set them back on the table.

"They pale in comparison to you. You are the most ravishing creature I've ever laid eyes on." His hand swept back and forth across her shoulder to the base of her neck. He noted the pleasing shudder it produced in her body and made a note in his memory palace about the exact spot that prompted that shudder.

_Good information to know._

She raised her hands to gently push him back a half-step from her. With space opened between them, he saw her eyes now cast a glance up and down him.

"You clean up well yourself. I see your new tie and shoes. They complement your suit nicely."

"And the Blue Turtle is gleaming. When I took it to get washed, I even got the deluxe wax job, just for you. It's so clean now we can eat our dinner right off the hood."

The gentle tinkle of her laugh made his breath catch once more. Her hand rose up to tug his tie then brush her fingertips across his chest.

"Hush. I'm looking forward enough to tonight that I wouldn't even mind eating dinner on top of your car, but why don't we go inside somewhere since we're all dressed up?"

"We're inside right now. Do we really have to go somewhere?"

Now he heard her breath catch.

"You tempt me. You really tempt me, Patrick."

He sighed.

"As you do me, but I've made reservations at Chez Henri's. In addition to the fine cuisine, I found out they have music there in the evening to appeal to us both. I guess it would be a shame to waste that."

"There's nothing that says how long we have to stay there this evening."

"Indeed, my dear. Shall we begin our journey?"

Once Patrick had closed the door behind them, he offered his arm to Teresa. He knew she could see the delight in his eyes when she took it. Arms entwined, they walked to the parking lot.

"So you got the Blue Turtle washed?"

"I did."

"Did you get a service check too? Cause if you didn't and the engine seizes up, you're gonna have to be the one to get out and push. In this get-up, I'm staying in the car to steer."

"Oh, hush, Teresa." They both laughed, and Teresa brought her hand to his face to stroke his cheek.

"I've decided something."

"What?"

"I like the clean-shaven Patrick Jane better than the scruffy one. I love the scent of your aftershave, and I can't keep my hands off your smooth skin."

"Now I'm hoping the car engine seizes up right now and we have to stay home tonight."

* * *

After parking the Blue Turtle, Teresa and Patrick walked into Chez Henri's. The rich mahogany decor impressed her, but the way he knew his way around such a setting impressed her even more.

"Ah, Mr. Jane, nice to see you back with your date." The host smiled at them as he picked up two menus and beckoned them to follow him to a candlelit table in the corner, set apart as if in a world of its own.

"So you've been here recently?"

"I haven't eaten here since you and I came for lunch on your birthday a few years ago. I wish you could remember that. We had so much fun together that day."

_I wish I could remember too._

"But the host recognized -"

"I stopped by on the way home today. I wanted to make sure everything was perfect for tonight."

"Just the fact that we're here together makes it perfect."

"You're sweet. Still, I wanted to leave nothing to chance. You know, first-date jitters."

_He feels nervous with me?_

She slipped her hand over to lace her fingers between his.

"You don't have to be nervous with me. Besides, I know you must have had first-date jitters in the past."

"Of course I have, but that was in the last millennium. This is the 21st Century now after all." His eyes crinkled again as he spoke.

She stared at him across the candlelight and saw her moonlight man, her friend, the one whose boyish charm beguiled her. She understood now that there were two Patrick Janes, the one he showed to the world at large and the other he shared with her. She felt both honored and aroused by that.

He started humming a tune that sounded familiar to her ears, but she couldn't quite place it.

"Tell me what that song is. I know I've heard it before."

"You heard it this week. It's my favorite of the Fred-and-Ginger tunes."

"I'm still trying to place it."

"My dear, I was humming it because it reminds me of the beauty sitting before me this evening." He started humming louder.

Suddenly an image of Fred sitting at a piano - with a shampoo-soaked Ginger standing behind him - filled her mind.

_Now I know!_

"It's 'The Way You Look Tonight' from _Swing Time_." She felt like she'd just conjured up the winning answer on a quiz show.

"Bingo! If ever a song fit the occasion and the woman, this is it."

_I know he can see me blush, but I don't care._

"Thank you, Patrick."

Dinner was wonderful. Patrick recommended the prime rib, saying it was what she ordered when they had been here on her birthday. It and the wine he chose were excellent, but nothing compared to the conversation and laughter they shared. Despite the crowded restaurant, she felt like the two of them were a world away from their daily cares.

Patrick tapped her hand then nodded toward the stage in front of the dance floor. The band members had taken position and the vocalist grasped her mike.

"Good evening. We want to welcome you to Chez Henri's tonight. The name of our group is Jazz Peach, and I'm vocalist Calypso Alcott. Thank you for joining us, and let's get things started with some Duke Ellington."

The band swung into action, and soon enough Teresa surmised that the name of the song was "I'm Beginning To See Light." It was a light, airy number that made her want to jump out on the dance floor. As if on cue, Patrick squeezed her hand.

"Shall we?" he asked.

"Let's."

They joined several other couples who had spilled out onto the floor. They danced through the whole set, through the ballads and swings, through the up-tempo numbers and slow dances. As Patrick guided her across the floor, Teresa reveled in the feel of his arms wrapped around her body. She closed her eyes to soak in the heady mix of his tender touch and masculine scent as they twirled around each other.

When the band took a break, they returned to their table. She noted a difference. Before, they had been sitting on opposite sides of the table. Now Patrick scooted his chair around next to hers. He captured her hand in his. That was lovely in itself, but next he brought the back of her hand to his lips to let them glide across her fingers. He raised his eyes to meet hers.

_He's asking me if I approve._

She smiled and he continued.

In a few moments he shifted his attention upwards. His hand caressed her bare shoulder, moving back-and-forth across it as he focused his gaze there. Suddenly the touch of his fingertips changed in a way that she couldn't quite discern yet still made her shudder.

"Ah. It's where I remembered it." The look of triumph on his face was unmistakable.

"What?"

"Back at the condo I noticed you had the same reaction when my fingers moved over that place."

"It felt…" Teresa couldn't find the right word to describe the experience.

"Arousing?" Patrick lifted his gaze to meet hers. Taking a deep breath, she answered with her heart.

"Yes."

He nodded.

"It's like I said this morning in the kitchen. I'm an expert on many things and a willing student on others."

"Which are you in regard to me?"

"Both. The more I learn about you, the more I want to find out."

_Forget dancing! I want him to take us home right this minute._

The return of the vocalist to the stage broke into her thoughts.

"Welcome back. This next set is going to be special tonight. We've got a couple here celebrating seven years together." She turned around to the members of the band. "Guys, I don't know what the traditional gift for seven years is, but tonight it's going to be our music. Go figure!" The band members and the audience all laughed before Calypso Alcott continued. "Anyway, this whole set of songs is taken from the Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movies. Here's to our happy couple, Reese and Rick. Let's start with that classic Kern and Field's tune, 'The Way You Look Tonight.'"

"Aww, Patrick, that's beautiful." Teresa surveyed the crowd to see if she could pick out the couple. "What a wonderful way to celebrate an anniversary. It's lucky we were here the same evening as that couple. Wonder where they are?" She continued to scan the crowd.

"Closer than you think."

_Reese and Rick. Why do those names seem familiar? Reese and Rick, Reesa and Trick, Teresa and Patrick!_

She jerked her head around to see Patrick chuckling.

"You!" She pointed at him.

"Me?" His face took on a not-quite-innocent look.

"Them?" She asked as confirmation, not question.

"Us!" His grin confirmed her thoughts.

"Seven years?"

"Indeed, my dear. We've been together seven years at CBI, give or take a few days. I came over here on the way home to arrange this. You like?"

"Not like, love! Thank you, Patrick."

He stood and extended his hand.

"Shall we? A favorite song in a favorite restaurant with my favorite lady. Will you do me the honor?"

"Of course."

As she rose from her chair, an impulse seized her. She grasped his neck and brought her lips to his face. Unfortunately, he had just turned to look at the crowd. Her lips landed not on his own lips, her preferred target, but on his cheek, a not-so-bad secondary target.

"Thank you, my dear. That made the evening worthwhile right there." Patrick Jane, the so-called master of his emotions, blushed. Blushed!

"The night's not over yet." Teresa whispered in his ear in a purr, and she noted that it produced a shudder in him to accompany the blush.

_Good information to know._

With the whole set made up of Fred-and-Ginger tunes, she felt as if she were seeing the movies again. When the band played "Pick Yourself Up," she thought back to Fred and Ginger jumping the fence, moving past their boundaries. Now she and her moonlight man were moving past their own boundaries. That idea thrilled her.

The vocalist's words brought her out of her reverie.

"Ladies and gentleman, to conclude this set, we want to do that Irving Berlin classic 'Cheek To Cheek.' We hope you've enjoyed our excursion into the world of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, and congratulations again to our happy couple Reese and Rick on their anniversary."

"Are you glad I didn't wear a dress with feathers?" She reached up to stroke his chin.

"You bewitch me no matter what you wear, Teresa."

The band played 'Cheek To Cheek' at a mid-tempo pace, and the two of them spent most of the dance doing what the song title suggested. She loved the feel of his smooth skin next to her own. At the end of the song as the notes faded into the air, their motion stilled. Patrick raised himself up to kiss the top of her head. In turn, Teresa tugged his jacket to bring his ear around to her mouth. She kissed his ear lobe and spoke in a throaty whisper.

"Take us home. Now."

They stood alone on the dance floor, their arms entwined around each other. The unspoken message their eyes conveyed made them both quiver. She took a deep breath, and at the same time the two of them leaned toward each other, their lips closing the distance between them.

"Mr. Jane? Agent Lisbon?"

A reedy voice broke the mood. She looked over to see the agent _du jour_ from the security detail with a bashful look on his face and a cell phone in his hand.

"What is it?" She heard the irritation in Patrick's voice as he turned to the young man.

"Sir, Agent Cho has been trying to get in touch with you. He said he knows you both have shut off your cell phones but this is urgent." The agent handed his cell phone to Patrick. He brought the phone to his ear.

"This better be important, Cho."

Teresa watched as Patrick's countenance changed from happy to shocked. The phone slipped through his hand and tumbled to the floor. As the agent _du jour_ scrambled to pick it up, Patrick remained frozen in place, his hand hanging in mid-air.

"What is it, Patrick? What's wrong?"

Fear seized Teresa as she looked at his flushed face.

"Tom Wilcox is dead."

"Dead? How can that be?"

"Murdered. By Red John."

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Author's notes:

Harry Warren and Al Dubin wrote "I Only Have Eyes For You" in 1934. Many singers including Ella Fitzgerald have recorded the song, and my favorite is by Art Garfunkel on his album _Breakaway_.

Written by Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields in 1936, "The Way You Look Tonight" won an Academy Award for Best Song. Fred Astaire recorded it for the Brunswick label, and it is available on many compilation albums of his. May I also suggest two 21st Century recordings? Gloria Estefan recorded an orchestra-backed version on her album _The Standards,_ and Aaron Tippin recorded a country music, guitar-backed version on his album _All in the Same Boat_. These two recordings give a sense of the range of artists who have embraced the song over the years.

"Cheek To Cheek" was mentioned in the Chapter 13 author's notes. Another favorite version is Jane Monheit's from her album _The Very Best of Jane Monheit_.

Duke Ellington, Don George, Johnny Hodges, and Harry James wrote "I'm Beginning To See The Light," published in 1944. My favorite version is Ella Fitzgerald's on her album, _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Duke Ellington Songbook_.


	15. Remind Me

Author's notes:

Thank you to the great writer Sue Shay for all her support, encouragement, and guidance! In particular for this chapter, Sue pointed out in her beta read some wording that had an - _ahem_ - unintended meaning. Thank you, Sue, for spotting that big problem and for all your help! Be sure to read the latest posts, Chapters 52 and 53, for her romance-and-family story, "Ready or Not."

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

This chapter contains a clash between Patrick Jane and Luther Wainwright. Readers who have seen episode 4x23, "Red Rover, Red Rover," may notice a slight resemblance to a Jane-Wainwright clash in that episode, although the role of who starts it is reversed.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 15: Remind Me

* * *

Teresa insisted on joining Patrick at the crime scene, but she regretted it after seeing how Red John had dealt with Tom Wilcox. She couldn't muster sympathy for a killer like Wilcox, but the macabre scene they found turned her stomach. She marveled that her old self could hold together dealing with something that gruesome.

Back at CBI she sat at the table next to the bullpen, drinking stale coffee and watching the team flit back-and-forth from phone to conversation to computer screen. Her evening dress stood in stark contrast to everything around her.

Slowly people began to gather at the table. Rigsby, Cho, Van Pelt, and at last Patrick, who exchanged a brief glance with her. The best she could manage was a weak smile while she thought about what might have been. While the other three were distracted looking at photos, Patrick reached over to pat her hand.

A noise at the edge of the bullpen area drew everyone's attention. Luther Wainwright entered the area, his hands clenching as he moved over to the others. When he got to the front seat at the table, he moved his eyes around to everyone and glared them into their seats. Everyone except Patrick of course who took his time to sit down. Teresa heard the insistent tapping of Wainwright's shoe under the table as he waited for him to take his seat.

"The lab is processing the material we…" Cho began his report but Wainwright waved him off.

"The lab work will confirm what we all know to be true. Isn't that right, Jane?"

As Patrick looked up to respond, she wanted to reach out to him. The eyes that mere hours ago twinkled with delight as they danced now hung low. He had transformed from joyful Patrick to joyless Jane. Where before she had felt rising passion welling up inside, now all she wanted to do was comfort him, pull him into her arms.

"It's Red John. I have no doubt either."

"Red John sent me this email from an anonymous account an hour ago." Wainwright held up a piece of paper.

Van Pelt started to speak, but Wainwright waved his hand to silence her before she even spoke.

He may have intimidated Van Pelt, but he didn't deter Patrick.

"You're sure, _Luther?_"

Teresa winced. She heard the condescension in his voice.

"Yes, I'm sure. See for yourself." He handed copies to everyone around the table. Teresa looked over Van Pelt's shoulder to read it.

"_Dear Supervising Agent Wainwright,_

_I am a jealous man. I crave attention, and when someone else steals it from me I react poorly. I especially take it badly when someone of Tom Wilcox' ilk commands so much of your time and effort. You forced me to act, but look on the bright side. I took care of a problem for you; we all know he was guilty of murder. Murder poorly done? Yes, especially compared to my work, but he was a murderer none the less. You devoted far too many resources to such a small miscreant. You should thank me! I await your congratulations for me on a job well done. You do plan on congratulating me, don't you, Luther? Welcome to the big leagues, kid._

_With warmest regards,_

_Red John"_

"He's taunting you, you know that," said Patrick.

"And his arrogance will be his downfall. I have a plan, but it must begin tonight while the situation is still fresh."

"What's your plan?" Cho looked up from his copy of the email.

"I've pieced together information from a number of different sources, and I now believe Red John's base of operations is in a small community outside of Salinas."

"Outside of Salinas?"

"Yes. Two nights ago there was a fire in a warehouse there. It destroyed most of the interior but not all. I'd already had my eye on it as a building used by Red John and his minions. The fire would seem to be an accident, and I suspect there are further clues about Red John and his organization there. I don't see how Red John can go back there because of all the attention it has received."

"So what do you plan to do?" asked Cho.

"I want to go there to sift through the debris looking for clues, turn up something more than what the locals have found."

"Have you told the local law enforcement that you're gonna do that?"

"No. I have reason to suspect some of them may be in league with Red John. I don't know who to trust."

Teresa could see Patrick shaking his head. Wainwright noticed too.

"Something not sound right about my analysis?"

"No, your _analysis_ could be correct. Of course I haven't seen the evidence you've put together."

"Ah, yes. You've been _preoccupied_ lately. You've not followed the Red John case with your usual intensity." Wainwright curled his tongue around "preoccupied" in a way that put Teresa on edge. She noticed Patrick tense up as well. "So what doesn't sound right, Jane?"

"Your plan. I agree with you that Red John has recruited many people in law enforcement to work with him; he certainly could have some of the locals there working for him. But you going there alone doesn't sound right, something doesn't add up about this. Have you considered that this is a setup of some sort?"

"Precisely why I intend to not go alone. Agent Rigsby, am I to understand that earlier in your career you were an arson investigator?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then you'll come with me." The unease around the table heightened. The rest of the team cast concerned looks at Rigsby.

"So you think the two of you going alone to this warehouse will produce results?" Patrick continued to shake his head.

"No, the three of us will produce results. I want you to join us, Jane."

Teresa's heart skipped a beat. She fought every urge inside her to yell "no."

"I want Red John more than any of the rest of us do, but something just doesn't seem right."

"Here's what's not right, Jane. You. I'd have thought that nothing would distract you from pursuing the killer of your wife and daughter. I guess I was wrong. Lately you _have_ been preoccupied."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Teresa saw the two men staring at each other with a white hot heat.

"Although I never would have suspected it until now, I guess you've moved on from your dead family. After all, it's been a few years. A decent interval has passed. Then something comes up that allows you to act on what you've wanted for a long time. You and Agent Lisbon together. Forget your wife, forget your daughter. Now the two of you can pursue what you both want and the rest of the world can just go to hell. Angela and Charlotte Jane, they're only footnotes in a police report. Ancient history as far as you and Lisbon are concerned."

Luckily for Wainwright, Cho and Rigsby were sitting on either side of Patrick when he lunged across the table. As they reacted to grab him, his fist swung within an inch of Wainwright's jaw. Patrick clawed at the table as Cho and Rigsby pulled him back, digging in his fingernails along the surface with one hand while reaching out to grasp at Wainwright's neck with his other.

"You sonofabitch. You sonofabitch. How dare you say what you said about Teresa Lisbon."

Cho and Rigsby got Jane to settle down.

_I can't handle this._

Teresa glanced at Patrick the same time he looked at her. The silent message between the two of them was the same - "I'm sorry." She got up from her chair to move away from the others, and she felt tears edging the corners of her eyes. All of the strength, the confidence she had had the other day in meeting with Wilcox had vanished. What replaced it was a mix of rage, fear, and hurt.

She saw Cho and Rigsby loosen their grip on Patrick. Big mistake. As everyone else looked at Teresa retreat across the floor, Patrick turned back to Wainwright. This time he lunged without the quick response of Cho and Rigsby. His body hurtled across the table without restraint as his right fist crashed into Wainwright's jaw. Surprise flashed across his face the instant before Patrick made contact. Momentum carried both men backwards onto the floor as Patrick slammed him with another punch.

As she made her way out of the area Teresa glanced back one more time to see all three Musketeers round the table to separate the two men.

* * *

Patrick rolled on the floor with Wainwright as Cho shouted at him. Slowly he became aware of three pairs of hands pulling Wainwright and him apart. Rigsby and Van Pelt, each grasping one of his arms, forced him into a chair. Even after he was seated, they kept his arms restrained.

_Yeah, if I were them I'd keep me held down. I can't even trust myself right now._

Cho lifted Wainwright off the floor and handed him a tissue to deal with the trickle of blood that appeared at the corner of his mouth. After taking the tissue from Cho, he waved him off. He looked over at Patrick, still restrained.

"You know, I could arrest you for assaulting an officer. There's a lot of people who'd line up to shake my hand if I did that."

"Go ahead. Have Cho handcuff me and take me down to a holding cell. It was worth it. It felt good."

Wainwright moved right in front of Patrick and lowered himself so they could look at each other eye to eye. Patrick noticed that Cho hovered around Wainwright's back.

_Ha! Cho thinks Wainwright is gonna hit me back while Rigsby and Van Pelt are holding me._

"Jane, I'm not going to arrest you. As a matter of fact, I want Rigsby and Van Pelt to release you. But before they do that, I want to apologize to you. I wanted to get you focused on this situation with Red John, but the means I used was perhaps er…overzealous. I deserved what I got."

"To say the least."

Patrick tugged at Rigsby and Van Pelt's hands.

"Let him go, agents. I'll take my chances with Jane. I hope both he and I can have a civil conversation now."

Patrick felt the hands that held him down lift away.

"Yes, you were an arrogant ass in what you said. And a son of a bitch." He looked around and saw that Teresa had left the area completely. "I don't care about myself, but there was no point in bringing Agent Lisbon into this."

Wainwright crossed his arms while looking at Patrick, deep in thought. Then his face softened.

"Jane…_Patrick_…come with me up to my office."

Patrick saw Cho glance back and forth between Wainwright and him. He could tell that Cho wasn't at all sure about leaving the two of them alone.

"Don't worry, Cho. I won't attack Wainwright while we're alone. I'm under control again."

_Wainwright's at least partly right. Since Teresa's attack, I have behaved differently. My emotions have gotten the better of me including tonight._

Wainwright nodded to Cho, and he beckoned Patrick to walk with him. When they boarded the elevator and the door closed, Wainwright glanced at Patrick.

"You've got quite a punch for an old codger."

"And you've got limited mobility for a young whipper-snapper."

The elevator dinged, the door opened, and the two men proceeded down the hall to Wainwright's office, the office of the Supervising Agent. Once inside, Patrick watched as he went to a side door and opened it.

_I'd never noticed that before. It must be a private work area._

Wainwright signaled for Patrick to join him, and they entered a cramped room. He hit a light switch, and a single bare light bulb turned on overhead. In the middle of the room was a plain wooden table with one straight-back chair beside it. Wainwright reached into the main office to pull in a second chair.

What Patrick saw floored him. On the wall were cork boards and marker boards. Scattered across them were police reports, crime scene photos, and hand-written notes and diagrams. On the table were stacks of files. A glance revealed that everything in the room had one thing in common - Red John.

Wainwright motioned for Patrick to take a seat in the second chair.

"I haven't shown this to anyone else. I wouldn't show it to anyone else, not even the President of the United States. You're the first."

"Looks like you're quite the authority on Red John."

"I am. I'm confident I now know more than you do about Red John, although I'm sure there are specifics you still know better than I do. I've been spending months developing all of this."

"So…why bring me up here?"

"Two reasons. The first is I wanted to convince you that I've put considerable thought into my analysis and plan."

Patrick motioned to the stack of files to get Wainwright's permission to look at them. When Wainwright nodded, he opened several to glance through them. After a few moments, he looked up at Wainwright again.

"I do believe that you've done your homework. All of this proves that you're serious. What was the second reason you brought me up here?"

"I need to be able to trust someone. To bring someone else in on this."

"I thought you were suspicious of me, that maybe I was in league with Red John."

"At one point I considered that idea, but what it boils down to is that I've got to trust someone. You're the best candidate I could come up with."

"That may not speak well of your situation." Patrick's laugh conveyed no joy, only the hint of gallows humor.

"I figured that you would never forgive let alone embrace the man who killed your family."

_That logic does make some sense._

"If that's what you felt, then why did you say what you did downstairs?"

"Like I said, to focus you. To get your attention. Because of Lisbon's condition, it's prompted the two of you to bring forward feelings that you both suppressed. I don't have a problem with that. But it is true that your new relationship with Lisbon has affected you. You can't deny that, can you?"

As much as he wanted to deny it, his relationship with Teresa had affected him. Still, Wainwright's words incensed him.

_I hate getting played by Wainwright. It hurts being a mark._

"I'm sorry now that I promised Cho I wouldn't hit you again."

"Jane, I'm not your enemy. We see things differently, but we're not enemies."

"Humor me. How do we see things differently?"

Wainwright walked over to one of the cork boards. On it were pictures of all the known Red John minions. He thumped the back of his hand against the pictures.

"It's all of this, all of these people. That's where we differ."

"I don't follow."

"To make an over-simplified answer, you see Red John as a serial killer with a sideline in leading a cult. I see Red John as a cult leader with a sideline in serial killing."

Patrick said nothing for several moments; Wainwright's words hit him like a brick. His gaze flitted from Wainwright to the boards to the papers in front of him back to Wainwright.

_Wainwright has done his homework. Looking at Red John from a different angle did make a difference. Is it possible I've been too close, too narrowly focused all these years to make any headway? _

"I see your point."

"You're not the only one who has obsessed about Red John."

What Wainwright said prompted a question in Patrick's mind.

"You know my obsession comes from my wife and daughter's deaths, but where does yours come from? All of this goes beyond normal police work."

Wainwright didn't speak for several moments. He dropped his head to collect himself. Then he looked at Patrick again.

"Have you ever heard of the Iron Venture Alliance?"

_What's his connection with that?_

"Yes. It was a cult back East. Several dozen people were in it. When it fell apart, all of the members drank…" Patrick couldn't finish the sentence because of the anguish he saw form in Wainwright's eyes.

"My older sister's name was Cortney. She was the star of the family. She was my hero growing up, the person I most wanted to be like. Then she got caught up in Iron Venture. She fell under the spell of the cult leader, and she rejected all the attempts my family made to get her out. None of us ever got over our loss."

"I'm sorry, Luther."

"So you see, Patrick, I too have a personal reason for going after people like Red John." He waved his hand around the room. "You can stay in here as long as you want, look at what you want. I only ask you not to tell anyone else about the existence of this room, let alone what's in it."

"I do want to go through all of this material that you've put together. While I still disagree with your plan, you've convinced me of your analysis. You're a smart man; I underestimated you."

"I can't force you to go with Rigsby and me, but I'm asking you as one damaged person asking another. Will you go with me to check out the warehouse, to see if we can get something to break the case open?"

_I've sworn vengeance against Red John. It's driven me all these years. Now when there's someone else who shares this drive I've got doubts. My relationship with Teresa has skewed my whole world. I can't think straight anymore._

Patrick looked around the room again, not wanting to make eye contact with Wainwright yet. Conflict raged inside him. At last he looked up at Wainwright.

"I'll go."

* * *

Patrick Jane knew he was a coward, and it had nothing to do with his reluctance to go on Wainwright's mission to the warehouse. He was a coward because he couldn't face Teresa. His phone call to her had been brief. The venom she hurled at him hurt deeply, but he knew where she was coming from. Memory or not, she could tell enough about him to know he had misgivings. And yet he was still going. The last sounds he heard from her were sobs. It tore him apart inside.

Rigsby handled getting an undercover vehicle for them to use. Wainwright stayed in his office checking over schematics of the warehouse one more time. Patrick busied himself in the bullpen with a piece of paper and a green marker pen. When he finished he walked over to Van Pelt.

"I have a favor to ask of you, Grace."

Patrick could tell that Van Pelt noticed how his voice cracked. She also surely saw his hand tremble before he rested it on her desk.

"Sure, Jane. What?"

"Grace, would you deliver this to Teresa for me? She went home earlier." He pulled out an origami frog with two green eyes from his side pocket.

"Why don't you give it to me yourself, Patrick?"

Patrick and Van Pelt both turned to see Teresa walk into the bullpen at a brisk pace. The make-up that mere hours ago had encircled her eyes now marked her cheeks in long streaks where tears had run down her face.

"Teresa! I thought you were at home."

Teresa crossed to where Patrick was standing and placed a finger on his mouth to silence him. With the other hand she took the paper frog from him and regarded it as a smile crept across her face. With great care she slipped it into her coat pocket. Keeping her finger pressed against his lips, she looked into his eyes.

"You let me talk. I know you didn't want to discuss it, but I know you well enough to know this is no ordinary assignment. You fear what will happen; it's a plain as day. I won't get upset with you now, it's not the time for that. But I couldn't let you go without seeing you one more time before you left. We have unfinished business, Patrick."

Before he could get any words out of his mouth, Teresa lifted her finger off Patrick's lips to replace it with her own lips. Standing on her tiptoes she curled her arms around his neck to deepen their kiss. Her tongue sought out his, and he obliged her with a passion that matched her own.

Patrick lost track of how long they stood there like that but eventually they had to break apart for air.

"Teresa…"

Before he could get anything out of his mouth beyond her name, she placed her finger again across his mouth.

"Patrick, I want you to promise me something."

For his part, Teresa had so mesmerized him that he would agree to anything at that point. After a soft kiss on the index finger blocking his lips, Patrick moved it aside so he could reply.

"Yes, Teresa."

"When you come back to Sacramento, and you _will_ come back, I want you to come home to me as soon as possible. Do you promise?"

"I will, Teresa, I will."

"Now go on and do what you need to do. I'll be waiting for you."

Once more Teresa stood on her tiptoes to kiss Patrick, this time with the lightest of touches. After a moment she broke the kiss but he pulled her to him again for one final kiss. Then she drew back to flash those emerald eyes at him that he was powerless to defy. Indeed, he didn't want to defy the message that lurked behind them.

"Get going. I saw Rigsby and Wainwright downstairs loading up the car."

Patrick nodded and slung his bag over his shoulder.

"I'll come back to you, Teresa."

As he walked by her, Patrick felt a hand pat then squeeze his butt. Jerking his head around quickly, he found Teresa with an impish grin spread across her face and Van Pelt with her jaw dropped open at all she had just witnessed.

Patrick looked into Teresa's eyes again, then turned as he heard the elevator door open. Once on board, Patrick kept eye contact with her until it was broken by the closing of the elevator doors.

* * *

Teresa held her emotions in check as long as she could. Once the elevator doors closed, she surrendered to them. She convulsed in a spasm of moans and sobs.

She heard Van Pelt's chair scrape across the floor as she stood up to embrace her. Teresa buried her head on the taller woman's shoulder. They stayed like that for what seemed like hours.

_Please come home to me, Patrick._

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Author's notes:

Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields wrote "Remind Me" in 1940. My favorite version is Ella Fitzgerald's on her album _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Jerome Kern Songbook_.


	16. Danse Macabre

Author's notes:

Thank you to the great writer Sue Shay for her support, encouragement, and guidance on this chapter and the whole project! Looking for a short suspense story that packs a punch? Sue's "Danger on Donner Pass" is one of my favorites of hers; it's a complete story told in 18 drabbles.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 16: Danse Macabre

* * *

All Patrick Jane wanted to do was go into the warehouse, glance around inside, and get home to Teresa. The quicker the better.

The odor of burnt plastic, charred wood, and melted wiring assaulted his senses the moment he set foot in the fire-ravaged interior. Still, it felt good to walk around after their three-hour car trip through the darkness. As he picked his steps carefully, he scanned the floors and walls for any clues linked to Red John.

Wainwright walked in the lead followed by Rigsby. Patrick brought up the rear which was fine with him. They advanced at a slow pace, stopping to assess every twist and turn through the debris.

"Squeak."

Not long after they entered a noise straight above them caused all three men to lift their gaze. A lone rat scurried along a catwalk. Rigsby spied it, and after a nervous laugh the three set out again.

"Thump."

After moving another thirty feet, a loud crash froze each man in place. Looking across the open expanse to where the sound came from, Patrick saw pieces of the metal roof hanging down through the ceiling in that area. All that kept them in place were stray sections of insulation. One piece of insulation had given way, and a large section of sheet metal had dropped to the concrete floor below.

Lagging slightly behind the other two gave him a chance to think.

_What is it that feels wrong to me?_

Two things that came up in the last day troubled him, one bigger than the other. The bigger of the two was how Red John was so aware of the situation about Tom Wilcox. While Patrick went after Wilcox with gusto because of his attack on Teresa, he had to admit that Wilcox' crimes didn't set him apart from many other criminals - even with his attack on a CBI agent. Yet Red John had followed those crimes and more ominously had known that Wilcox committed them. All of that pointed to an inside source of information, a prospect that alarmed Patrick.

The other thing that troubled him was personal. While Patrick and Teresa's behavior since her attack surely suggested to the outside world that their relationship was changing, that wasn't the kind of thing that people became aware of quickly. Yet Wainwright seemed to know all about the two of them.

Those were two mysteries he wanted to get to the bottom of.

Wainwright and Rigsby had stopped about twenty feet in front of him in a large room. Something on the floor had gotten Wainwright's attention. Even though he was hunching over, Patrick could see the excitement with which he was rifling through burnt papers that appeared to spill out from a charred file cabinet.

_That doesn't look right. Why are those papers on the floor and not anything else?_

As Wainwright continued to examine pieces of paper, Patrick stepped beside Rigsby. Now both of them stood behind Wainwright, and they exchanged glances that asked the same non-verbal question: Why is that on the floor?

The answer? The charred paper was the cheese, and the room was the trap.

Rigsby was the first to notice the gas pouring into the room, and he grabbed Patrick's shoulder to spin him around to see it. Wispy white vapor flooded in. Now Wainwright looked up and gasped at the gathering cloud.

"Slam. Click." "Slam. Click."

The two doors on either end of the room shut at the same time followed by the sound of two locks closing. Rigsby went to one door to begin throwing his weight against it while Patrick did the same with the other. Wainwright joined him at his door but they made no headway.

Rigsby quit his door to stumble over to the other two men.

_The gas is beginning to get to Wayne. Me too. We've got to work fast._

Patrick felt light-headed, and Wainwright started to sway. Rigsby held his stomach. Regardless of their condition, they had to keep trying. By nods and glances, the three men summoned enough coordination to hurl themselves at the door at the same time. It didn't budge. They nodded to each other again and took a second crack at it. Still no effect. Now Rigsby staggered around, grasping at the air to hold onto something. Patrick grabbed him but realized it was futile - only a matter of time before the fumes would drag both of them down.

Patrick looked over to Wainwright who was fighting to stay upright by leaning against the wall. His hands searched for something, anything along it to hold him up. It was a losing effort.

As Wainwright sank to the floor they made eye contact. He tried to speak but no sound came out. Patrick could still tell the words he mouthed: "I'm sorry." With that last effort, Wainwright collapsed in a heap.

While the cloud of vapor swirled thicker around them, Patrick and Rigsby gripped each other's arms to prop themselves up.

_Wayne and I will be on the floor just like Wainwright in seconds._

As their strength ebbed, the pull of gravity drew them. First Rigsby next Patrick sank to his knees. Rigsby's grip on his arm pulled Patrick to the floor with him. His head swimming, he watched Rigsby's body cease to move.

Patrick's thoughts turned to someone far removed from this nightmare.

_I love you, Teresa._

Thick clouds of pungent gas flowed in eddies before his eyes as his head hit the hard surface of the floor.

* * *

Teresa Lisbon sat on the sofa in her living room with one hand drawing her knees up to her chest and the other hand fingering her crucifix. How long had she been in that position? She lost track. All she could do was rock back and forth.

_Please come home to me, Patrick. Please._

* * *

Patrick blinked his eyes open. He lay on the floor where he had fallen. Rigsby was still beside him - was he alive? Patrick pushed him so that he rolled onto his back. Looking closely at Rigsby's body, he could see the rise and fall of his chest.

_He's breathing! That's good._

"Rigsby. Rigsby. Wake up. It's Jane." He grasped his shoulder and shook it hard. In response, Rigsby grunted. "Rigsby. Wake up."

Rigsby opened his eyes but had a hard time focusing. Patrick waved a hand in front of him.

"Over here Wayne. It's me, Jane."

Rigsby rubbed his hand across his face.

"Are you okay?" asked Patrick.

"Aside from a headache? Yeah."

"Same here."

Rigsby continued to shake his head.

"Where's Wainwright?"

Wainwright. Patrick hadn't thought about him. The two men looked around at a room empty besides themselves.

"_Supervising Agent Wainwright is no longer with you, Agent Rigsby."_

Red John. Patrick knew immediately who the voice was. Glancing at Rigsby confirmed that he knew it too. Patrick moved to stand but a wave of dizziness forced him to sit again. When Rigsby tried the same thing he ended up sprawled on the floor.

"_You shouldn't move for another few minutes. By then the effects of the gas should be fully gone from your system. Forgive me. I gave you a little too much of it."_

Both men scanned the walls and ceiling to see where Red John's voice came from. Tapping Patrick on the shoulder, Rigsby pointed out a small speaker embedded in the ceiling.

"Where's Wainwright?" Patrick asked.

"_Patrick, I really had not expected you two to come along with Agent Wainwright. My guess? He compelled you to do so. Intense young man, wouldn't you say?"_

"Where's Wainwright?" Patrick repeated.

"_Patrick, over the years you and I developed a history. I'll admit, for a while I even fell into this notion that you were a worthy nemesis. But I was wrong; I let my emotions get the better of me concerning you. It started when you insulted me long ago. Painful to admit but true. Yours was a game I shouldn't have lowered myself to play."_

"So you've put me in my place. Back to…"

"_Oh, you're smart. Just not smart enough to warrant the attention I lavished on you. What's the old saying? Live and learn."_

"Back to…"

"_Now Luther Wainwright. Whatever his personal weaknesses, he was different. What a powerful intellect! Luther had a supple mind. Men like him I admire, I envy. They grace our world with their presence. If they're your ally, they strengthen you. If they're your adversary, they challenge you. Even when someone like that is your adversary, doesn't he strengthen you in the end as well? That was Luther Wainwright - a man to challenge me, to bring out the best in me."_

"Where is Wainwright, you bastard?"

"_Patrick, Patrick, Patrick. I don't like that tone or that language from you. It's unnecessary. Don't like being told that someone like Luther outshines you? I know the feeling. One thing you and I have in common is shame, Patrick. About our pasts, our shortcomings. But it also spurs us on. The important thing is that we not let that shame drive us insane. I do what I need to do to prevent that."_

"We're not talking about me."

"_Oh but we are, Patrick. You're just not in the same league as someone like Wainwright or myself. Enough of this chatting. We all have things to do, places to go. Patrick, Agent Rigsby, I've detained you far too long. In a moment I will release you. Do forgive me for not being a more accommodating host. You can pick up Luther Wainwright on your way out."_

Rigsby and Patrick looked at each other. With a shrug of his shoulders, Rigsby began to pat down his clothes.

"Looks like I've got everything I came in with including my gun."

Patrick felt his clothing and found the same result.

Click.

Both men turned to the sound coming from the far door. Rigsby motioned for Patrick to fall in behind him, and with gun drawn he approached it. A soft push from Rigsby's fingertips made the door creak open. He stepped outside.

"Oh, shit."

Patrick saw the gun in Rigsby's hand shake while his gaze froze on something before him. Moving beside Rigsby, nausea seized Patrick when he followed his line of sight. A growing pool of blood puddled beside his right foot.

Pulling out his cell phone, he fought to control himself as he dialed a number.

"_Cho."_

"This is Jane. Rigsby and I are at the warehouse outside Salinas. We just found Wainwright. Red John butchered him."

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Author's notes:

Camille Saint-Saëns composed "Danse Macabre" in 1874.


	17. Let's Face The Music And Dance

Author's notes:

Thank you to the great writer Sue Shay for her support, encouragement, and guidance on this chapter and the whole project! In addition to her current romance-and-family story, "Ready or Not," Sue has begun a series of drabbles entitled "It's Over." Check 'em out!

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Warning: This chapter contains violence and adult situations.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 17: Let's Face The Music And Dance

* * *

Patrick Jane stopped to rub his eyes. How many hours had he been in this room alone? He had lost count. It looked like a hundred other conference rooms in a hundred other small town police stations.

_Forgive me, Teresa. I have to keep at this._

The door at the far end opened and a familiar face appeared.

"Take a break, Jane."

"I can't. Gotta keep going."

Cho walked over beside Patrick.

"When I stepped out three hours ago, you were in the exact same place in the exact same position with the exact same look on your face. Come on, Rigsby got us some sandwiches. And he got you some fresh tea."

"I've gotta keep with it."

"What? You want me to order to take a break? I can do that, you know."

"But I have to…"

Cho placed a hand on his shoulder, an action so unlike him it made Patrick stop mid-sentence. He looked up from the papers scattered in front of him.

"_Patrick_. I understand. We all need your best work right now. But stretch your legs. Come with me for a minute."

Scooting his chair out, he rose.

"Just for a minute, _Kimball_."

CBI had taken over the community's police station, evicting the local officers from their space. Cho had called in CBI agents from around the state to meet up there to begin round-the-clock operations against Red John and his minions.

Before Cho left Sacramento to come downstate, Patrick told him about Wainwright's secret room in the CBI building. Driving a van loaded with the contents of that room, Cho and Van Pelt met up with Patrick and Rigsby at the police station. Together the four of them placed the materials in a secure room the locals used for interrogation. After unloading the van, Patrick shut himself off from the world to work with what Wainwright had put together. The only person he communicated with was Cho. At intervals Cho would join him in the room to update what was happening outside. Patrick would apprise Cho of what he had pieced together, and the two men would proceed to bounce ideas off each other.

_Cho's not Teresa, but he's still good._

"Anything new?" Cho asked as they walked into the back entrance of the break room. Beyond there Patrick could see the main floor space of the building, now filled with CBI agents bustling about. In one corner Rigsby and Van Pelt interviewed a local cop, a Detective Smith, someone who Wainwright's notes suggested could be a Red John minion.

"I feel I'm on the cusp of something. But then again Wainwright felt so too." Patrick rubbed the back of his neck after taking a sip of tea. "Have Rigsby and Van Pelt made any headway with that Smith guy?"

"Not yet. Rigsby says he can tell Smith's hiding something."

One of the first fruits of Patrick's review of the Wainwright files was that local detective. Combining what he found in the files and what they had discovered since Wainwright's murder, Smith looked more and more suspect.

A commotion distracted the two men from their sandwiches. As agents were leading Smith to a holding cell, he grabbed a gun from one of them. In response, Rigsby, Van Pelt, and half-a-dozen other agents drew their weapons.

"You don't understand. None of you do. No one understands what Red John has done for me, the life that he's given me."

_Well, there's a confession. Wainwright would have been proud of me for proving out his theory._

"Calm down. Don't do anything rash." Rigsby motioned for Smith to drop the weapon as he spoke.

"I will not shoot a brother officer of the law, no matter that you fail to understand the greatness of Red John."

"That's good to know. Now put down the weapon." Rigsby motioned again for the man to set the gun on the floor.

"But I cannot betray Red John." Detective Smith raised the gun to his head.

"No, no, don't…" Agents all cried out to the man as he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.

Patrick winced at the sight.

* * *

As he knelt over the body of the Detective Smith, Patrick's gaze searched for something, anything to provide a clue about where Red John was. Trouble was, nothing stood out. The guy was a typical detective on a small town police force.

"According to his summary notes, Wainwright thought Smith was a fairly new recruit for Red John. I haven't been able to go through all of his detail notes yet, but let's assume he was right."

"Here's his billfold and the other stuff in his pockets." Rigsby handed three plastic bags to Patrick.

He saw nothing out of the ordinary. Restaurant receipts, credit cards, dry cleaning ticket.

_A veteran detective, one on the job for years, would be careful about how he kept information._

Then a brainstorm hit Patrick.

_But he might slip up using a technology that was newer for him…_

"What about his car?"

"It's out in the parking lot. A CBI team is going over it now," said Van Pelt.

"Does the car have a GPS?"

Van Pelt looked at a clipboard.

"Yes."

"Bring it in here."

* * *

After Van Pelt retrieved the GPS, she joined Rigsby, Cho, and Patrick in a vacant conference room. Patrick seized the GPS from her hands.

"Smith might have typed an address related to Red John into the GPS."

Cho nodded in recognition.

"He might not have thought about the list of previous addresses that stayed on it."

Patrick fiddled with the touch screen on the GPS.

"Exactly. I'm pulling up that list right now; we need to check out all of these locations. Maybe he slipped up."

For two hours Patrick and the team went through the addresses on the GPS. They dismissed most as routine, many of them for crime scenes that Smith went to. One though caught Patrick's attention immediately. He cross-checked it with Wainwright's notes.

"This is the address for the only Red John murder in this town. Was Smith assigned to it?"

Rigsby pulled up crime reports on a computer screen.

"No. He was not."

"And yet he went there. More circumstantial evidence on Smith."

The team whittled the list to six addresses they could not explain.

"These six need checking out."

"Let's go."

Rigsby and Van Pelt took three while Patrick went with Cho to check out the other three. When the quartet walked outside to their cars, the sunlight on Patrick's face felt good. It also focused his mind on someone always in his thoughts.

_Please forgive me, Teresa. I want to come home to you. But I have to keep going for the sake of Angela, Charlotte, Luther, Sam Bosco, all of Red John's victims, and the rest of us left behind to grieve._

* * *

Since leaving the police station with the list of addresses, events moved with a speed that astonished Patrick. He watched as Cho coordinated different CBI teams that moved around the outside of a warehouse.

_Maybe this time we've got you, Red John. And it will be thanks to Luther Wainwright._

The warehouse, on Cho and Patrick's list of three to check out, had seemed like just another nondescript building at first. Surveillance revealed something else. Like worker ants moving to and fro around an anthill, a steady stream of people went in and out. The team identified several as being among Wainwright's list of suspected Red John minions. As more and more signs pointed to the warehouse as Red John's headquarters, Cho set up a raid on the facility.

Now Patrick crouched behind a dumpster. Beside him, Cho made hand signals to the CBI agents leading individual teams. The stillness of the twilight filled him with a mix of nervous energy and dread. Cho had told him to stay behind at the station, but Patrick refused. He had to see, to witness what happened. Eventually Cho gave in, but he made Patrick wear the same protection gear everyone else did.

On Cho's signal, the calm shattered as the raid began. While caught by surprise, Red John's minions put up a stiff fight. A man from inside the warehouse made his way out with a grenade and hurled it at an undercover CBI vehicle. His throw came up just short of the van, but the impact of the explosion tipped it over. Shrapnel embedded in the side of the dumpster above Patrick's head, and debris rained down on Cho and him. Taking a rifle off his shoulder, the man took aim at the van. That was the last thing he did as sharpshooters took him out.

Small arms fire erupted all around Patrick. As the CBI agents made their way inside, he crawled close to the ground behind them. The mix of Red John's people they found inside startled him - young, old, men, women. But all had one thing in common; they were armed to the teeth. Some put up more resistance than others.

One figure inside the warehouse stood out from the rest. He wore a mask and directed the others' actions as he scurried from one point to another. Cho and Patrick glanced at each other with the same thought.

_Red John!_

As the agents closed in, Red John pulled his minions back into a tight knot around him. Slowly they backed down an aisle toward an office along the wall of the warehouse. The minions kept up their fire while Red John barked out orders behind them.

Suddenly, one of the minions, a young man, broke ranks. Moving away from the group, he held up his hands and knelt on the floor. He yelled at the agents in front of him, "I surrender, I surrender."

The sounds of gunfire trailed off as Cho yelled for the man to stretch out on the ground. His body shaking, he lowered his hands to the concrete floor. Agents held their fire as he complied with Cho's order.

Bang.

The man crumpled on the concrete floor, blood gushing from a wound in his back. Red John had at last fired his weapon - to shoot his own man. The action froze the whole scene for a moment.

"Shoot, shoot, keep it up."

Red John's shout prompted the group around him to resume firing. A bullet slammed into the forklift that Patrick was using for cover, yet he still had to go on, to trail the agents as they pressed forward, to see the events unfold.

Red John and his circle of people had made their way to the end of the aisle, across from the office. His minions had put up a resistance that astonished Patrick. They had to know that it was futile, yet they kept up the fight. Behind them, Red John continued to call out orders.

When they backed up to the door of the office, Red John opened it. Then he turned back to the thinning ranks of minions in front of him, still putting up volley after volley of bullets. He pulled out two guns and began firing himself. Not at the CBI agents closing in but at his own people. The action was short and brutal. Shots to the head took out all but one of the minions. A middle-aged woman who was merely wounded cried out in anguish. Red John pointed a gun directly in her face and pulled the trigger. Because of his position, none of the CBI agents could do anything about it. Everyone watched the horror unfold.

_You're a complete bastard to do that to your own people._

With all of his minions outside the doorway dead, Red John ducked inside and slammed the door. Using caution the agents advanced toward the office. From where he crouched, Patrick could hear jostling noises from the inside.

A blinding flash lit up the warehouse, and an instant later a shock wave followed that knocked over all the CBI people including Patrick. As debris rained down, smoke and fire gushed out from where the office had been. Blown off its hinges, the door Red John went through moments before flew through the air to land in a splintered mass beside Patrick. A smear of blood coated the middle of it. Looking back to the office, or where it had been moments before, he saw CBI agents advance toward it, guns leveled, with Cho in the lead. When Cho stepped inside the office, Patrick could see him shake his head as his face contorted. Agents fanned out to survey what was left, and soon Patrick heard them yell out "clear" again and again. After a few moments, Cho and the others removed their helmets, and he beckoned Patrick forward.

The disgust Patrick saw on Cho's face from afar did nothing to prepare him for what he saw when he made his way over to stand next to Cho. The last group of minions, what was left of them anyway, littered the room. In the center of a twisted mass of bloody limbs and smoking debris was the masked reason for all the carnage. In something akin to a stupor, Cho and Patrick stood over Red John's body. Rigsby and Van Pelt, their rifles slung over their shoulders, joined them. The quartet stood in silence while other agents moved back and forth around them.

As an agent passed by carrying a box of vinyl gloves, Patrick plucked out a pair. Looking to the other three, they nodded permission. Kneeling beside the corpse, he lifted the mask. After all these years, what he saw surprised him.

Red John was a man. Just a man. Someone Jane would pass on the sidewalk, stand in line behind at the grocery, or sit next to at a restaurant. No one would give him a second thought. He was…ordinary. Yet so much evil came from that one, nondescript man. Patrick shifted his gaze up to Cho. In response he shook his head. There were no words to say.

Bedlam commenced outside. As the warehouse transformed into a crime scene, a flood of vehicles, equipment, and people arrived. Agents and local police set up a perimeter around the building to fend off reporters who collected in the parking lot. Helicopters, some law enforcement, some media, circled overhead with search lights that flashed across the damaged walls. Scores of technicians arrived to handle evidence. Within an hour, upper-level bureaucrats and politicians arrived to claim credit for the success.

_Those political hacks always show up when things go well._

Sitting on the tailgate of a CBI lab truck, Patrick sipped tea from a paper cup and drank in the scene. The short burst of action would be followed by the long slog of process.

_Luther would be proud of what we accomplished because of his work._

"You were a better man than I, Luther Wainwright," Patrick spoke into the chilly night air as he raised his cup in salute.

_And I really mean that._

A hand gripped his shoulder. He turned to find Cho smiling at him.

_Smiling!_

"You're a good man too, Jane. All your work with his materials paid off."

"Thanks. Red John was right about one thing. Wainwright was a genius."

The soft expression in Cho's eyes caught him further off-guard.

"Jane, we're gonna be here a long time. A long, long time."

"I know. What do you need me to do now?" Tossing his empty cup into a trash bag next to the CBI truck, Patrick stood.

"Go home. We'll take care of this."

"Go home?"

"You deserve it. Get out of here. She misses you as much as you miss her."

Patrick did the most un-Jane-like thing he had done in years - he grabbed Cho in a tight embrace.

"Thank you."

"Alright. Let go of me. A simple goodbye would have worked. Go!"

"Goodbye!"

* * *

How long had it been since Teresa set foot outside her condo? She had lost track. It was like a chain had tethered her to her sofa. Pizza boxes, half-drunk cans of soda, and empty tissue packs cluttered the surface of the table in front of her.

A sound by the door riveted her attention. Familiar scratching noises around the key hole made her sit upright as she trembled in anticipation. Now she heard the key turn in the lock. She gaped at the door knob as it twisted around.

A whoosh of cool air that made her shiver flooded the room when the door swung open. Half rising to her feet she craned her neck for a better view as a figure walked in. A figure with blond, disheveled hair, a suit hanging limp on his shoulders, and sad eyes that drooped like the bag he was carrying.

Teresa's world - and his - changed in an instant. The only sound in the place was the squeal that escaped her mouth.

_He came home to me!_

Patrick jerked his head around to see her as he dropped his bag. Like two magnets drawn together, they stumbled, tumbled toward each other across the objects between them. With her arms outstretched, she crossed the final inches between them as if she were lunging to the finish line of a race.

When the tips of her fingers touched his chest, a jolt of electricity surged across her whole body. She felt his hands surround her shoulders to pull her to him. In turn, she reached her arms around his neck to sate her intense desire to be as close to him as possible. Their grip on each other was like a vise as their sobs of thanksgiving filled the air. For a moment she held still to smell him, to touch him, to simply savor his presence.

Then Teresa looked into his eyes while she lifted herself onto her tiptoes. With more force than she had meant to use, she drew their faces together for a kiss. What she got instead was a collision of their noses. Pulling back amid laughter from both of them, she saw his eyes crinkle with delight. This time she closed the distance with care as they moved by instinct to join their lips.

_I've got to seize his lips, capture them to make up for the days of despair that kept us apart._

She lifted her hands to cup his cheeks, willing them both into a firmer kiss. Their kissing continued as Teresa pressed against his body. When at last they broke to catch their breath, Teresa rested her face against Patrick's neck. She reveled in the feel of the rise and fall of his chest underneath her hands.

Her body still plastered against him, she became aware of a new sensation stirring within her. At the same time she sensed a change in the way he held her. Standing on her tiptoes once more, she blew a hot breath into his ear and caressed his earlobe with her tongue. She noticed a further _physical_ change in him, from below. Now she opened her mouth to nibble on his lobe and noted the delicious shudder it produced across his whole body.

Patrick pushed her away from him, but only so he could kiss her again. The hardness of their lips joining inflamed Teresa. As they kissed his arms moved downward to her hips to raise her off the floor. In response she lifted her legs to encircle his body. Feelings of thanksgiving had given way to an urgent desire, something primal.

Patrick pulled back from the kiss. Their eyes met again, a silent question exchanged. Teresa answered for them both with a nod. With one arm still wrapped around her hips, he brought his hand up to finger the top button of her blouse. He stopped once more as if to ask permission. Instead of a nod this time, she answered by reaching her hand for the top button of his shirt.

Clutching her close, he carried her down the hallway to her bedroom. As she continued to unbutton his shirt, Teresa rubbed her cheek against Patrick's. The rough, unshaven stubble against her smooth skin aroused her even more.

When they reached her bed, he laid her down with a gentleness that warmed her heart. It soon turned to lust as he first undressed himself and then undressed her. Freed of constraints, their hands roamed over their bodies to explore each curve, each feature, each sensitive point.

It didn't dawn on her until later that the first words either of them spoke came during their first union that night. As their passion peaked and they moved as one, he brought his kiss-swollen lips beside her ear. In rhythm with their actions, Patrick whispered a half-moan, half-growl, "Teresa, Teresa, Teresa."

It was enough to tip her into ecstasy.

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Author's notes:

Notes for Chapter 12 already mentioned "Let's Face the Music and Dance," and another favorite recording of it is Ella Fitzgerald's version on her album _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Irving Berlin Songbook_.

Readers interested in the songs and movies mentioned in this story can check out a Youtube playlist titled "Mentalist - I Remember You - playlist for fanfic story."


	18. How Long Has This Been Going On?

Author's notes:

Thank you to the great writer Sue Shay for her help and insight! As I've mentioned before, I would not have undertaken this project without her encouragement and support. In addition to her current romance-and-family story, "Ready or Not" (as of this writing Chapter 54 has just been published), Sue has begun a series of drabbles entitled "It's Over." Check 'em out!

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Warning: This chapter contains adult situations and dialogue.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 18: How Long Has This Been Going On?

* * *

She opened her eyes to see the morning sun peeking through the window, its beams mixing patches of light and shadow across the bedroom. As she inhaled a deep breath, she felt a stirring behind her.

Teresa lay on her side with Patrick's arms wrapped around her, his bare chest pressed against her back. The stubble from his day-old growth of beard tickled her shoulder as his lips scattered kisses from her neck downward. Turning her head, she urged his lips to join hers, a silent command he readily obeyed.

In a gentle motion Patrick grasped her index finger. Teresa sighed in contentment at the memory of his same action that night at the hospital, and she longed to feel the three tender squeezes of his fingers on her own again. Something was different though. Before he began this time, Patrick brought his lips beside her ear. Now with each squeeze came a word whispered in a warm breath that touched her soul. _**I-love-you**_. Once finished with the words, Patrick nibbled around the edges of her ear, just as she had with him during the night.

All was right with her world. Her moonlight man found her, sustained her, and returned to her. Now he whispered the three words she had yearned to hear since she first saw him at the lake.

Teresa pulled his arms tight around her body. When she did, the sunlight illuminated something shiny.

Her gaze fell on the source of the shininess - Patrick's ring. Unease welled up inside her in an instant. Taking her eyes off the ring, she let her attention wander to the bedside table. There sat the origami frog, the gift of _a friend to a friend._ Behind the frog was a picture, one the old Lisbon must have cherished. In the photo she stood surrounded by her team, Cho, Rigsby, Van Pelt, and Jane. On their behalf the old Lisbon had just received the CBI team-of-the-year award according to the caption. While they all had a hand placed on the trophy, the other four focused their smiles and attention on her. Especially Patrick. She was their leader, the one they looked to for responsibility, the mature one.

_What have I done? Teresa Lisbon, the old me, was another person. Someone whose body, whose life, whose relationships I took over until she returns. I've been her steward while she's been gone… _

…_and what did I do? Without any say on her part, I changed her world. "Changed" is too weak a word. I seduced her closest friend. When she does come back, she'll find I wrecked the life she had known._

_And what about Patrick himself? He honored his wife by wearing their ring; he had remained faithful to her memory all these years. As for the old Lisbon, he'd built a stable friendship with her, one that worked for them both. What right did I have to upset the balance he had achieved? I've ruined his life as well._

Overcome with distress, Teresa threw the blanket off her body and swung her legs around to get up. She felt Patrick's hand rise to caress her bare shoulder, something she had welcomed only moments ago. Now his touch filled her with remorse. She shrugged his hand off her. He tried again to touch her, but she rolled her shoulders to avoid his grasp.

"Teresa?"

_I can't look at him. I've got to get away from him or I won't be able to control myself._

Without turning back she rose to her feet.

"I have to go take a shower."

"But…"

"I have to go."

She moved quickly to her bathroom and shut the door behind her. Turning on the water, she ducked into the shower while it was still only lukewarm. She wanted to escape, to be alone with her distress.

No such luck. A gentle rapping on the door made her look up. She could feel his concern even though the door separated them. Mostly finished, she shut off the water.

"Teresa."

"Go away, Patrick. I want to be alone."

"You know I can open this door if wanted to."

"I know that, and it's not even locked. But I also know you're a good enough man not to open it if I don't want you to."

"Please, tell me what's wrong."

"How I just described you is what's wrong."

"Huh?"

"You're a good man. That's what's wrong."

The loud snort that she heard on the other side of the door made her forget her anguish for a moment and laugh.

"Me, a good man? You really are mixed up in the head if you think that."

"Go away. I've taken advantage of you while the old me has been gone."

"What?"

"I've thrown myself at you, seduced you."

She heard him snort again.

"Seems to me it takes two people to do what we've been doing, especially last night and this morning. I was just as willing as you were."

"I took complete control of our situation, I forced…"

"Whoa, now hold on a minute. You didn't force me to do anything. I view all of this as more of a collaboration. As a matter of fact I like to think I've shown some initiative in our relationship - the flowers, our date, that thing I did last night that made you start…"

"Ahhhhhhhhh, Patrick!"

"I remembered it more as a moan while you were digging your fingernails into my back, but I was a little caught in the moment myself so I could be wrong."

"Shut up." She couldn't help herself, she was laughing and crying at the same time.

"No, that's not what you said. It was more along the lines of…"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up. It's what you said to me this morning that's upset me."

Silence.

_Is he still there?_

After three beats he spoke.

"I realized that's what made you get up from bed. I was trying to do anything I could just now to salvage things. I understand your feelings aren't the same."

"You don't know what my feelings are."

"I do know mine though. I've spent years shoving my feelings for you off in a corner. But the truth is I've loved you for a long time. For years."

"You're just saying that."

"Now you're making me angry. I never thought I'd love anyone after Angela, but you proved me wrong."

"You're just talking about us, about me. The 'me' that surfaced after the attack."

"I've got news for you. I'm in love with you whether you're the old Lisbon or the new Teresa. To me there's no difference. I love you regardless of who you are. And by the way, the old Lisbon loved me as well. Neither of us had the courage to admit it to each other. Me finally having the guts to say it is new though."

Teresa leaned against the bathroom door. She believed what he said about himself. But what about her? What did she feel?

The answer for her, the new Teresa, was clear. If there was such a thing as love at first sight, she had fallen for him the moment she opened her eyes to see him at the lakeside. Their time together since had only deepened her love for him.

But what about the old Lisbon? Had Patrick sensed her feelings correctly? Thinking like a detective, evidence all formed in her mind - Van Pelt's description of their relationship, the observation about her and Patrick from Jeff in Narcotics, and the desk drawer full of origami frogs in her office. Everything she had seen and heard pointed to one thing - he loved her and she loved him. Then she thought of one more piece of evidence, another photo on her bedside table that clinched matters.

Really it was two snapshots printed side-by-side in one picture. Someone must have taken them at a crime scene. In the first snapshot Patrick was running around the side of the Blue Turtle while the old Lisbon was in hot pursuit of him, reaching to grab the tail of his suit jacket. In the second one she had caught him if "caught" was the right word. They stood together in an embrace looking at each other instead of the camera. Each morning when she awoke Teresa had studied that picture, in particular their facial expressions. The two were grinning, off in a world of their own. They were oblivious to anything besides each other.

_If that's not two people in love then I don't know what love is._

She knew what she wanted to say and needed to say to Patrick - the same three words he had spoken to her.

With renewed confidence she opened the bathroom door, and a fully-dressed Patrick tumbled onto the tile floor at her feet.

* * *

While he had been talking with Teresa, Patrick collected his clothes strewn across the floor of the bedroom and redressed. He leaned back against the bathroom door to put on his shoes. Just as he finished tying a shoelace, the door opened and he fell backwards into the bathroom. Looking up he saw a beautiful - and dripping wet - Teresa standing over him.

"I wasn't prepared for you to open the door on me."

"Obviously."

He grinned.

"But you know, since you did and I'm down here on the floor, I must say looking up at you from this angle is…"

Teresa tapped his chest with her foot to silence him.

"Hush!"

In response he puckered his lips to blow a hot breath across her bare leg. He noted the shudder it produced up her body.

_Good information to know._

Her eyes and smile communicated the message that he craved. Still, he wanted to hear those three little words from her lips.

"Patrick, I lo…"

Ding-dong.

_No, no, no! Someone can't be at the front door. Not right now. Let Teresa finish._

"I lo…"

Ding-dong, ding-dong.

Teresa's contorted face mirrored his own frustration. With a sigh he sat up.

"Since I'm dressed I'll go to the door."

"Get rid of whoever it is. I've got something important to say." She reached her hand down to stroke the side of his face. Her smile conveyed affection mixed with a hint of mischief.

Patrick hopped up and made his way to the front door. He opened it to a woman with a too-bright smile on her face for that time of the morning. When she saw him, her smile faded but came back a moment later.

_Poor job of hiding your disappointment that I wasn't Teresa._

"Oh, hi! You must be Teresa's boyfriend Patrick."

"Ahm." Patrick was stymied.

_Who is this woman?_

She brushed past him to stand in the living room, craning her neck around.

_How rude!_

The woman turned back to him, extending her hand.

"I'm sorry, that was rude of me." _Well, at least she knows that._ "Forgive me. I'm Teresa's friend Sunshine. I'm the Assistant Manager here."

_Ahh, now I understand._

Patrick shook her hand. He remembered that Teresa said the condo's Manager had remarked that they looked like sisters. While he never would have said that, Sunshine did bear a slight resemblance to his Teresa, in a less attractive, vaguely slutty way.

"Good to meet you, Sunshine."

"Teresa and I were going to get together this morning. I didn't realize you were back in town."

_Yeah, I'm back in town and you should get lost._

"Well, she's not up and around yet…"

"Sunshine! Hey." Teresa, now dressed, walked in to the living room.

_Oh, Teresa, why did you have to walk in? I think I could have gotten rid of Sunshine in a few more moments._

"Hey yourself, girl. Did you remember we were getting together this morning? Or did Patrick's getting home make you forget?" Sunshine waggled her eyes in a suggestive manner. Teresa blushed.

_Okay, I give up. I need to go by the CBI building anyway._

He turned to Teresa.

"Well, I, um, need to, um, go to the office. I'll be back at…say…lunchtime?"

Teresa walked over to him.

"Yes, lunchtime. Be back here at lunchtime." She put her arms around him and kissed him. Then she brought her mouth around to his ear to whisper to him. "I have three words I want to say to you. In private. Really four words because I'll put the word 'too' on the end."

Not caring about Sunshine being present, Patrick kissed Teresa again, a promise of more to come. Releasing her from their embrace, she turned to her friend.

"Give me just a minute, Sunshine." She turned and went back to her bedroom.

_Nothing to do now except for me to go to the office and kill a little time, catch up on the latest news from Cho downstate._

With a sigh, Patrick moved past Sunshine toward the front door.

"Don't worry, Mr. Jane. We'll be through before lunchtime."

He nodded, twisted the doorknob, and moved into the doorway. A question popped into his head, and he turned to ask it before he left.

"Teresa always calls you Sunshine. She's never mentioned your formal name."

The woman laughed.

"Everyone just calls me Sunshine, but my formal name is Lorelei. Lorelei Martins."

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Author's notes:

George and Ira Gershwin wrote "How Long Has This Been Going On?" in 1928. My favorite recording is Ella Fitzgerald's version on her album _Pure Ella_. Readers interested in 21st Century update of the song might check out Gloria Estafan's version on the album, _The Standards_.

Readers interested in the songs and movies mentioned in this story can check out a Youtube playlist titled "Mentalist - I Remember You - playlist for fanfic story."


	19. Fortuna

Author's notes:

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **Sue Shay** and **make-mine-a-kiaora**, for their help and insight with this chapter! Be sure to check out Sue's latest updates to her story, "Ready or Not."

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

Warning: This chapter contains strong violence, adult language, and adult dialogue. Readers who are sensitive to these topics may wish to skip over this chapter.

Notes on the chapter title follow the end of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 19: Fortuna

* * *

All Patrick Jane wanted was to hear Teresa Lisbon tell him "I love you." Three simple words. Why did Sunshine or Lorelei Martins or whatever she called herself have to interrupt them? He pondered that as he drove to the CBI building.

_I suppose a delay isn't bad. It'll heighten the anticipation for both of us. I'll bring home some flowers, some wine. We won't leave the condo until dinner time. If even then._

He smiled at the thought of his return at noontime, wondering what Teresa would be wearing, if anything.

_Oh well. Time to check in with Cho._

Just as he was about to call, his phone rang. Glancing quickly at the screen, he saw it was Cho himself. He pulled his car over to the side of the road.

"Cho, good morning. It's a great morning."

"No, it's not. The guy we found in the warehouse office was not the same one we saw running around before the explosion."

Patrick gripped the steering wheel tight as a wave of tension cascaded through his body.

"What?"

After all that they had been through, now this came along.

"We identified the guy in the office, someone named Jones. He lived in San Diego until a year-and-a-half ago. Until he left there, he had been confined to a hospital. He was a paraplegic."

Patrick lowered his head onto the steering wheel.

"Another minion. Next you're gonna tell me you found an escape route out of the office area."

"Yep. A tunnel running underneath the office into the sewer line next to the building."

"Red John got away."

"We haven't gotten a trail on him yet." Patrick heard some conversation in the background. "I'm gonna put the phone on speaker. Van Pelt wants to ask you about something."

"Hey, Jane. Has Lisbon ever mentioned someone named Lorelei Martins? She's the Assistant Manager at her condo complex," Van Pelt asked.

"Yeah. I just met her myself this morning. She's at Teresa's condo now."

"The reason I'm asking is 'cause she's Luther Wainwright's girlfriend. The SACPD officer who contacted her about Wainwright's murder said he'd never seen someone so overcome with grief."

_She wasn't grieving when I left. Oh no, no, no._

A thought, a horrible, sickening one, formed in his mind.

"Martins was not grieving this morning when I saw her. It was the opposite. Teresa said she had only recently started the Assistant Manager job. Can you find out where she was before that?"

He heard Van Pelt tapping on the keyboard in the background. A gasp followed.

"Before she moved to Sacramento, she lived down here. Two blocks from the warehouse."

Patrick thought back to Teresa seeing Wainwright driving through the condo parking lot at odd times.

Now the doubts that had lurked in the back of his mind made sense. Wainwright knew so much about his and Teresa's relationship because Martins told him. And Red John knew about Wilcox and so much more from Martins. That's how he set up Wainwright.

Patrick whipped his car across the lanes of traffic as brakes screeched and horns blew from cars swerving out of his way. Heading back home he floored the gas pedal.

"Teresa is in trouble! Martins is one of Red John's people. Call the agent on the security detail."

He heard no response for a few moments until Cho's voice quavered in reply.

"There's no answer from the guy."

"Call SACPD. Call anyone. Get someone over to her place. I'm on my way back."

* * *

Nothing looked amiss as Patrick wheeled back into the condo complex - no cars, no people around during the mid-morning quiet. When he pulled up to Teresa's apartment building, the only noise was the brisk wind rustling through bare tree limbs.

_Please let Teresa be okay._

Looking over to the car of the CBI agent _du jour_ on the protective detail, he noticed something on the ground beside it. Jumping out of his car, he ran over, only to find the object was the agent himself lying in a pool of blood on the pavement. Bending over, he felt for a pulse but found none.

Patrick picked up the agent's revolver. Checking it, he could tell that the agent had fired all his bullets except one.

_Red John's here!_

With the gun still in hand, he stood up.

"I've had a chance to reload _my_ gun, Mr. Jane."

Patrick spun around. Lorelei Martins stood in front of him, leveling a gun at point blank range. By instinct he had raised the gun in his own hand at her.

"Why? Why all this, Ms. Martins?"

Her laugh burned like acid.

"You'd never understand. Only someone who knows the greatness of Red John can understand."

"But your relationship with Luther Wainwright, your friendship with Teresa. They've meant nothing to you?"

"Luther was a good guy, but no one compares to Red John. Maybe in some other life Luther and I could have had a real relationship. Maybe Teresa and I could have been real friends. Maybe you and Teresa could have had a life together." She shook her head. "But not in this life."

"Red John's not worth all this."

"Oh, but he is. He's given me fulfillment. Isn't that what we all want in life? Look at you and Teresa. You two got _some_ fulfillment with each other before your end."

_Red John must be with Teresa. I've got to get to her._

"Things don't have to end this way."

"Oh, they do, Mr. Jane. They do."

As Martins slowly pulled back on her trigger, Patrick saw unease flit across her eyes. Perhaps he could take advantage of that. He moved his eyes to her right quickly.

"Okay, Agents Cho and Rigsby, move in."

_Maybe that will distract her._

His deception worked, at least a little. A hint of doubt appeared in her eyes. Martins continued to pull the trigger but she glanced to the side.

Then she realized that he'd duped her. She tried to refocus.

Her gun shot preceded his own by a fraction of a second.

In front of him Patrick beheld a horrific sight - fire erupt from the nozzle of her gun. It was almost as if he could see the bullet speed across the distance between them. The report from his own gun jerked his wrist around.

Pain sliced through the edge of his shoulder where her bullet grazed him, but his adrenaline was running so high he noticed nothing more.

He looked at Martins. A red stain expanded across her chest. She looked at herself, grimaced, and raised her gun again. Letting out a moan, she pulled on the trigger. Patrick winced in anticipation. Her gun barrel swayed to the side. She could no longer steady the gun.

One bullet. Two bullets. In quick succession she fired a rain of shots. Bullets flew in every direction except at Patrick; they skittered across the pavement, slammed into the agent's car, and whistled past his ear. As she fired Martins sank to her knees. Her blouse covered in a red, thick goo, she fell within his shadow. Looking up, Martins raised her gun once more. Too stunned to react, Patrick stood frozen. She pulled the trigger again.

"Click."

"Click."

"Click."

After a final hate-filled grimace, her hand dropped to the pavement and her body ceased to move.

A searing pain from his shoulder jolted Patrick.

_I can't stop. I've got to get to Teresa._

Pulling out a handkerchief, he stuffed it under his jacket to staunch his bleeding. Steadying himself, he made his way to the condo. As he stumbled along, he saw her door ajar. The morning breeze rocked it back and forth on its hinges, making a squeaking noise.

_Oh no. No, no, no._

Patrick hurled the door open to find two figures standing in the middle of the living room.

Teresa stood in front, trembling with terror. Behind her stood Red John. He had one arm around her stomach while the other held a knife against her neck. Patrick shuddered when he recognized who Red John was.

"Surprised, Patrick?" he asked.

The only sounds in the room were Teresa's gasps and Red John's laughter.

"I thought you were dead." Despite feeling light-headed, Patrick knew he needed to stay alert, to keep Red John talking.

"What's the old saying? Reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated, although I suspect my end is coming soon enough."

"It doesn't have to be this way."

"Is that what you told Lorelei?" Red John's eyes lit up with delight. "It appears she was a good girl, shooting you. But not good enough if you're here now. Oh, well, can't have everything. But on the bright side for me, you get to see me finish my last project."

Red John scraped the edge of his knife against Teresa's neck, leaving a red mark.

"Stop that!" Rage filled Patrick's yell.

"Oh, I'll stop soon enough. I suspect you've alerted CBI and SACPD to come. That doesn't leave much time, does it? I'll have to work fast."

Patrick took a step toward Red John and Teresa, but further scraping of the knife against her chin froze him in place.

_He's got an iron grip on Teresa. I've got to get him to quit focusing on her. There's only one way to do that. I've got to get a reading on him._

"To a certain extent I understand what's troubled you for so long. We all have our various issues with work, family, relationships." Searching for any tell, Patrick saw the slightest of twitches in Red John's eye when he spoke the word "family."

_Yes! Something I can work with._

"You're pathetic, Patrick."

_I've got to keep going, keep probing._

"I am, aren't I? You know, family can be a vexing proposition for anyone. I know I had family issues. It's different for different people - a mother, a father, a sibling we envy…"

"Shut up, Patrick."

Red John twitched again when he heard "mother."

"What was your mother like?"

Red John shifted his gaze from Teresa to Patrick.

"Stop it, Jane."

_He called me Jane instead of Patrick. I struck a nerve!_

Teresa's body was shaking all over as Red John pulled her tighter to him.

"Look I understand about family. My father abused me. How did you feel when your mother abused you?" asked Patrick.

Red John's temple twitched as well as his eye.

"My mother did not abuse me. She never laid a hand on me."

_I've got him! The tone of his voice! And he went out of his way to respond! Something about his mother hurts him._

"Oh, she most certainly did. It doesn't have to be physical, does it? You should know that. Other things leave a mark just as deep, if not deeper."

"My mother was a saint, no matter what you or anyone else says." His face reddened. Even though he still held Teresa, Red John directed his full attention to Patrick now.

_Good, good. Focus on me. Focus your anger on me._

Despite the pain that roiled through his body, Patrick laughed at Red John.

"That's not what I heard."

"Stop it. Stop it." Red John flashed his knife at Patrick before putting it back on Teresa's neck.

_He's losing interest in Teresa. I've got to keep pressing him._

Patrick summoned up strength to laugh louder, a cackle to accent the smirk on his lips.

"Face it. Your mother was a whore. That's how she put bread on the table for you. She did her whoring for you, her pride and joy. How did that make you feel?"

"Stop it! My mother was not a whore."

"Oh, she did what she thought she had to do. Just not very well. She was a cheap whore, wasn't she? Barely getting by. She couldn't charge her johns much. Did she give discounts for repeat customers? That is, if she had any."

"Stop it! Stop it this instant!" Red John's grip loosened around Teresa.

"She was just a two-bit whore." Patrick sneered at Red John as he curled his tongue around his next words. "Did she let you watch?"

Red John flung Teresa into a bookcase. It teetered, then fell on her. Books rained down across her body. Patrick heard a picture frame shatter on the floor.

"Run, Teresa, run," Patrick shouted as Red John charged him, knife held aloft. He raised his one good arm to deflect Red John. He was only partly successful. Crashing into him, Red John slammed them both onto the sofa. The knife whipped around to embed in Patrick's leg with a sickening ripping noise.

"Agh!" Patrick screamed as Red John fell on top of him. Both men grasped at the handle of the knife. Patrick clasped it first. Even when he tugged at it, Red John could not prize Patrick's grip off the handle. Taking a different tack, Red John punched his wounded shoulder again and again. Soon blood covered Red John's fist.

Patrick cried out in more agony, but he still clung to the knife embedded in his leg.

From the corner of his eye, Patrick saw movement next to the fallen bookcase. Teresa staggered to her feet, a dazed look etched across her face as blood dripped from a cut along her hairline. She focused on the scene in front of her.

"Patrick!"

Teresa ran over to pull Red John's arm away from him.

"Run, Teresa, run!"

Before she had a chance to do anything, Red John swung his fist. It smashed into her face, sending her reeling backwards to the divide between the living room and kitchen. Patrick heard a thud as her head slammed into a cabinet.

Turning back to Patrick, Red John pummeled the wounded shoulder. With each blow Patrick's grip on the knife handle weakened. Raring back, Red John unleashed a roundhouse punch that lifted Patrick's whole body off the sofa. He collapsed with a moan as both of his arms fell limp like a rag doll.

Seizing his opportunity, Red John jerked the knife out of Patrick's leg. In a quick motion he thrust it forward. Helpless, Patrick felt the blade slice into his abdomen. It was almost as if his screams came from another world, somewhere beyond him. He looked down at blood spurting from the fresh wound. His body rattled as wave upon wave of pain washed through him.

Now Red John laughed as he withdrew the knife. He stood up from the sofa and reached his full height. Staring into Patrick's eyes, he re-grasped the knife so it pointed down at Patrick.

_Go ahead, you bastard. Finish me off._

Something stirred behind Red John, and Patrick strained to focus on it. Teresa had pulled herself up from the floor. Rubbing her head, she stared at the scene before her.

"Jane!" She switched her gaze back and forth between Red John and himself.

_She said "Jane" instead of "Patrick." Lisbon is back! Maybe now she'll understand that she has to get away while she can!_

"Run, Tereeeesa ruuuu…" His voice trailed off. He was so weak he couldn't finish his plea.

His vision blurring, Patrick looked at Red John, the monster's face contorted by hate. Red John held the bloody knife aloft to plunge into Patrick. It was like a cat toying with a mouse. He couldn't move. He could only watch the knife blade glisten as Red John swung it through the air.

Something moved behind Red John - it was Lisbon, pure fury etched across her fiery eyes. She reached behind her to the kitchen counter. In one motion, she grasped a butcher knife and swung it around with both hands in a flash of speed.

As Red John's knife arced downward toward Patrick's chest, the blade on Teresa's own knife made contact midway on Red John's neck - and didn't even slow down. His body teetered for an instant. Then what was left of the monster buckled at the knees and crumpled as his knife clattered to the floor.

It was over.

_Teresa is safe!_ A feeling of peace settled over Patrick.

Patrick was failing fast. As his body shook, his vision dimmed. Teresa Lisbon moved in front of him, and he saw tears streak down her face as her upper lip quivered. He felt warmth as her hand clasped his. In response he squeezed her finger three times.

"Jane. Oh, Jane."

With a final burst of strength that came from somewhere beyond him Patrick willed himself to speak to her one more time.

"I…love…you…Teresa."

He smiled at her, shut his eyes, and surrendered to the darkness that closed around him.

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Author's notes:

The chapter title "Fortuna" comes from "Carmina Burana: O Fortuna," composed by Carl Orff in 1935 and 1936.


End file.
